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[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

You Need Only Ask [professor!Marcus Pike x librarian!reader]

Read on Ao3

Pairing: History of Art professor Marcus Pike x art library reader/you (cishet female)

Tags/Warnings: Kind of pining idiots but only one is pining, everyone is being professional but it's clear that Marcus is a pining idiot, implied coworkers to lovers.

Summary: Professor Marcus Pike is one of those cliché absent-minded professors - or so you think, but maybe there's another reason why this brilliant academic is acting a dumb fool around you?

Words: 3,534

A/N: This was inspired by an ask sent to me by @just-here-for-the-moment for a fic ask game thingy. Here's the original ask and my reply. I didn't write it exactly like that (main difference is my fic is set in modern times), but I hope y'all still like it!

”Good morning.”

Your customer service smile in place, you look over your shoulder.

”Morning, Professor. Just give me a second and I will be right with you.”

He hums, and you turn back to the bookcase where you were just about to finish re-shelving returns. Once done, you join Marcus Pike, Professor of Art History, at the desk. He’s tapping his fingers, almost impercievably, against the surface of the old solid wood desk, and you stifle a sigh. He didn’t have to wait that long.

”What can I do for you?” you ask politely. Professor Pike is never rude, but he is the typical professor type: absent-minded, a little awkward, his research always the number one priority.

“I looked for this book in the online catalog, but as I suspected, you don’t have it. It’s probably sold out, too.” He gives you a piece of paper before both his hands disappear into his pockets.

“Another inter-library loan, then?” you state, looking at the title. It’s in French, and you know immediately that your library doesn’t have it. Professor Pike is not the most computer-skilled person, so you usually double-check every book he asks for in the database, but this one you know you don’t have.

“Might have to go international for this one,” you tell him. “Canada och Europe. That’s coming out of your department’s budget, you know that.”

“I’ll make room,” he shrugs, looking towards the door, like he can’t wait to get back to the comfort of his own office. “And could you please give me more time with the last one you got for me? I need it for a bit longer.”

“I’ll contact the lending library,” you nod. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The “Sure thing” has barely left your mouth before Pike is out the door, the sound of his steps against the stone floor quickly disappearing down the hall. You shake your head before sitting down to look up the book for him.

As you work, you once again wonder how people like Marcus Pike get jobs at all. Someone as introverted as that would never have a real shot at getting a library job, which requires people skills, patience, and the ability to stand in front of people. But when it comes to academia, it seems like all you need is credentials and a good research profile, and you’re hired. Unlike you, who had to fight tooth and nail for this position. You have Master’s degrees in art and library science, educational and language studies, job experience, and it was still almost impossible to get this job. People who have these jobs never seem to retire but just sit there, year after year, until they eventually sprout roots that fasten them to their chairs.

But you’re here now, since five years, and while Pike’s predecessor never showed his face in the library but sometimes sent you cryptical emails requests that took you half a day to decipher, it’s nice to see that the much younger professor actually frequents the university’s special arts library.

Finally locating Pike’s book in a university library in France, you quickly find the instructions for ILL’s, and send a loan request. After that, you apply for more time for Pike’s previous book, and by afternoon, you have confirmation for both books: one will be mailed out later during the day in Europe, the other has been renewed. You let Pike know through an email, before performing closing duties in the library. Your computer pings just as you’re about to turn it off, and you see that it’s a reply from Pike. Clicking it up, you see the very unlikely response:

>>Amazing, what a service. Just bill the department, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much 😊 <<

Shaking your head in disbelief at the informal tone, you turn off the computer, clock out, and go home.

Professor Pike is back two days later, now asking for a book that’s available. When you tell him so, he clears his throat, gaze flickering away from you.

“Could you maybe show me where it is?”

“Sure.” You’re curt, because this isn’t the first time. It’s an easy enough book to find, and every item in the library is labeled, and the database even has an interactive feature where you can click on the item’s call number to open up a layout of the stacks, showing the correct shelf in red. It has freed you up a lot now that most patrons can easily find their literature themselves, but some people just want you to do everything for them.

“You know, Professor, you could maybe my start of term library tour useful,” you dare to tease him as you walk before him to the right case. “Most freshmen find it very helpful, and they can usually manage their own information retrieval after.”

“I think maybe a little touch-up course would do me good,” he replies, voice a little tight. “But I like personal service.”

You find the book, pull it out, and hand it to him.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you tell him easily. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He swallows visibly.

“No, thank you.”

He uses the self check-out this time, and leaves quickly without saying goodbye. You shake your head, and catch the eye of Mandy, a Master’s student who works on her thesis in the library almost every day.

“Strange fellow, that one, isn’t he?”

She gives you a peculiar look. “I guess so.”

One thing that you appreciate a lot about your job is the building itself. The campus was built in Collegiate Gothic style in the middle of the 19th century, and compared to the nearby city library with its white surfaces, glass walls, and modern design furniture, the much quieter arts library still seems more alive. The library houses more books than one would think when first seeing it, and it has the charming nooks and crannies that are so common for old houses.

You’re standing in one of those nooks one day; an alcove that houses folios, a cart of tall books parked next to the step stool that you’re standing on. You hear someone enter the library, shout out a “Hello!��� as you usually do to let patrons know that you’re in the stacks, and receive a low answer. Mindful not to hurt your wrists, you pick up another folio from the cart, and put it back in its place.

The sound of footsteps stops at the desk, and you pick up the next book.

“Be right with you!”

The patron moves again, slowly walking towards the corner where you are, as if looking for you. You turn your head just as you see Professor Pike come around the corner of a bookcase.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you nod, picking up the next book. “Almost done.”

“I got your email about the book from France. They sent it rather fast.”

“I was surprised, too,” you admit. There’s one book left, and you really should get down from the stool, move it, and get up again, but you’re lazy. You reach, getting up on your toes, just barely getting the book into place when you feel the stool slip from under you. You gasp, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head during the split second you’re in free fall, and then you land softly, not on the floor, but against a corduroy chest, strong arms holding you.

“Shit, that was close!”

You’re tongue-tied, wide-eyed with shock, heart in your throat and going a mile a minute to make up for the missed beats.

“Are you okay?”

You slowly start to realize that you’re in the arms of Marcus Pike, who caught you when you fell from the stool. And he’s still holding you.

“Yeah, I, yeah, fine, I’m good.” You babble, moving uncomfortably to let him know to let you down, which he does with the utmost care. Your legs are wobbly, and Pike keeps a hand on your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you now giggle, embarrassed but simultaneously exhilarated by the rush of adrenaline. “That wasn’t stupid at all, was it? I’ve been thinking about having that stool replaced, but I never got around to it, haha. I guess it takes an accident for me to get my thumb out of my a-, I mean, to get it done.”

Your cheeks are heating up, your hands are shaking as you grab the handles of the cart, kicking the accursed stool to the side.

“That was really scary, though,” Pike tells you in a low voice. “You could’ve really injured yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, thanks for catching me.” You bite your lower lip and force yourself to look at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Just glad I was here,” he shrugs, slowly following you as you march to the desk. “Although one could argue that had I not been here, you wouldn’t have tried to restack that heavy book without moving your stool. Sorry if I stressed you.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him lightly. “I sometimes cut corners like that. It’s fine, no harm done.”

You park the cart in its spot behind the desk, and turn to the shelf of reserved books.

“Here’s your inter-library loan. Due date four weeks from now, if you need it for longer, you know the drill.”

“I do,” he replies quietly and accepts the book from you. Holding it in one hand, he carefully opens it with the other, and thoughtfully browses through it. You sit down, flustered and still a little shaky, hoping that he’ll leave so that you can nurse your wounded pride, and maybe have a drink of water.

“It’s about these eighteenth-century art frauds in Europe – “

“I know. I read the title,” you cut him off, more curt than you meant to. Pike closes the book and nervously fingers the paper slip in it.

“You read French?”

“I even speak it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Of course you do.”

You stare at him, frowning as you try to understand what his deal is, and why he’s suddenly smiling like that. It’s never happened before.

And you’ve never noticed what a charming smile he has. It reveals a dimple in his right cheek that makes him look younger than he is – not that he’s old in any way, he must be around your age, somewhere between forty and fifty. The smile makes you even more shaky, and you can’t stop staring at him. He eventually notices, the smile dies down, and he lowers his eyes.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles, turning around and walking away briskly, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell happened.

Mandy comes in from her lunch break, waves a hello, then stops when she sees you.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod dismissively. “I’m fine, Mandy. I just… almost fell from a stool. But no harm done.”

She expresses her sympathies before going to the study area. You take a deep breath, and disappear into the back room for a glass of water.

There’s tittling in the stacks, but you don’t pay it any mind: it’s part of library life, especially on a campus filled with hormonal young adults. It’s not until your hear Professor Pike’s name mentioned that you stop writing on your keyboard, and strain to hear better.

“He’s the best lecturer here.”

“And he’s so fucking hot, don’t you think?”

“Cara! He’s a million years old!”

“No, he’s not, he’s like the youngest of the faculty, except for Langley, but she’s a woman.”

“Well, I’m bi, and she’s fine too.”

Shameless giggling ensues, and you have to stifle one as well.

“Wouldn’t mind doing some extra credit for Professor Pike…”

“That’s so tacky, Mindy.”

“Come on, like you haven’t thought about it.”

The girls appear from the stacks, carrying literature over to the self service check-out.

“I just think that his lectures are amazing. He can explain literally anything so that I get it. And he knows so much.”

You stare at your screen, but you’re listening to the students.

“He should lecture more, why doesn’t he have any classes?”

“Dug, because he’s a professor, he has other things to do.”

“I’d give him something to do…”

More giggling.

“I’m serious! I ended upw atching that Youtube lecture twice just because he’s so good!”

The girls borrow their books while talking, then nod good-bye to you as they leave. You nod back, then hit up Youtube, and type in Professor Marcus Pike.

You find a video of him giving a lecture on the history of art, and open it. And your jaw drops.

The man in the video is confident without being cocky, talkative, engaging, contact-seeking. He speaks clearly, even drops a couple of jokes, and he walks around the podium in the auditorium. If it wasn’t for that corduroy jacket with the leather patches at the shoulders, the one that you had enveloped around yourself last week, you wouldn’t have recognized the man.

You close the video and chew your lower lip. You always thought Pike was this nutty professor who didn’t know how to behave around people and preferred books to socializing. But the man in the video is nothing like that. So what is his problem when talking to you?

Navigating to Facebook, you search his name, finding him easily enough. He doesn’t seem to be very active, but his professional profile is listed.

His status is set to “single”, which surprises you, but you think no further of it. You click on to photos, finding only a few, most of them outdated.

“Good afternoon.”

You look up, startled at the familiar voice. Seeing Marcus Pike’s face, you close the browser window quickly.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, I was just… working.”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to return this.”

You accept the book from him, recognizing it as one of his previous ILL’s.

“Thank you.”

A couple of students come in, saying hello to both of you before disappearing into the stacks, phones in hand, library catalog probably open in their mobile browsers. Marcus looks after them, moving his weight from one foot to the other. You put the book to the side.

“Anything else I can do for you, Professor?”

He almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Um, no, thank you, I have to get back to work, grad student coming to see me, um, thanks, I’ll let your know if I need anything.”

He leaves the library, and you’re almost laughing. What the hell was that?

As soon as the students have found and borrowed their books, and you’re alone in the library with Mandy, she gets up and comes over to the desk. You smile your mild customer service smile at her, but she returns it with a wry grin.

“You know that he likes you right?”

You blink, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“Professor Pike. He likes you.”

You shake your head to show her that you have no idea what she’s talking about, and she laughs.

“Oh, come on! The way he stutters and stumbles when he’s here. And he talks about you all the time, every chance he gets.”

“He what?” Your voice goes up, and you clamp your mouth shut. Mandy nods.

“He always tells us to use the library, and ask you for help. The librarian there is really competent, we’re lucky to have such a professional at our service, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think that means he likes me?” you ask, cheeks heating up. This is stupid, this girl is half your age, and you’re talking like both of you are in middle school.

“Because he’s super confident in class, in meetings, whenever he talks to anyone, except you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hello!” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Earth to librarian lady! He’s like a flustered cinnamon bun whenever he’s around you – “

“Cinnamon bun?” you interrupt her, incredulously.

“Cutie patootie in old folk speech,” Mandy smirks at you, and you scoff.

“I know what a cinnamon bun is.”

“Whatever. He comes here constantly, doesn’t he? I sit here most days, and no other faculty member visits as much. He’s here practically every day, asking you the simplest questions. He’s into you.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy,” you mumble, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Alright, if you say so,” she smirks. “But I know what I’d do if I were you.”

Later, when she leaves the library, wishing you a good weekend, you open up the browser window again, Pike smiling charmingly at you from his profile picture. You look at it for a long time before logging out, and getting up to reshelf returns.

Friday afternoon in the library makes for slow hours. It’s usually empty – even Mandy has left – and while it gives you the opportunity to prepare for next week, there are Fridays when you’d rather just close up, if you could, and go home early.

A quarter to four, when you’re impatiently tapping your foot for closing time, Marcus Pike shows up again. Mandy’s words echo in your head, making you nervous for the first time, but you manage to suppress that, instead turning on your professional persona.

“Back so soon?” you ask him lightly

“Yeah, I need a book.” He seems to understand himself how stupid that sounded.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

He tells you the title, and you look it up.

“It’s in, call number N5198-5299,” you inform him, then looking up at his hesitant expression. “It’s in the corner over there.”

“Um, could you show me? I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.” You get up and walk around the desk. “But it’s a class that you use a lot, Professor, you should be accustomed to it by now.”

“Marcus.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Marcus. I don’t much like titles anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

You take him to the right stacks, walking in between the heavy cases. It’s a tight squeeze, this one, and the book is located further in. You pick it out, and turn around, only to find Marcus standing right behind you.

You’ve been in this situation before, many times even. Worst times were when you worked in the city library, and creeps would crowd you between the stacks, not trying anything but coming closer than necessary.

Your heart misses a beat, but you’re not uncomfortable. Instead, you smell something familiar and comforting, something besides old paper, leather covers, and ink. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Marcus’s cologne, the corduroy, his shampoo: earthy but fresh, a little like the forest after rain, but with an undertone of old leather armchair.

You wet your lips, and hold up the book he asked for.

“Your book.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take it, so you lower your hand. He clears his throat, but this time, he doesn’t look away, but straight into your eyes.

“I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” you breathe.

“There’s this classic movie festival this weekend, and I was wondering…”

“If I wanted to go with you?” you finish his sentence for him, as he takes too long for you to wait. He blinks, then smiles that sweet smile again.

“Exactly. Yes. Would you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” The smile seems to broaden even more.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I can pick you up, if you want to. At six?”

“Perfect,” you echo, now smiling widely yourself. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this entirely time.

“Perfect.”

The desk phone rings, startling both of you. The book falls from your hand, and you look down at it, then up at Marcus.

“I need to get that.”

“Of course,” he nods. You make a little movement with your head.

“I need to get past you, Marcus?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry.”

He backs out from between the cases, letting you out as well. His cologne seems to rub off on your arm when you brush past him, hurrying to the desk. You answer the phone and try to focus on the person calling, take a couple of notes, and end the call just as Marcus comes walking to the desk, book in hand. You check it out for him, give him your number, and he smiles again as he thanks you. You follow him to the door so that you can close up after him.

“I’ll call,” he promises as he steps out. You nod, hand on the door handle.

“Looking forward to it.”

He raises the book as a farewell, then starts walking down the corridor. You’re about to close the door when you suddenly step out, calling his name.

“Marcus!”

He turns around immediately, and now that he’s standing with his back straight, instead of hunched over, you notice how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Yes?”

“For the record… you’re into me, right?”

He chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I’m into you.”

“Just checking,” you grin. “See you tomorrow.”

[moni-logues]

Hiiiii Moniiiiii!!!! :) How are you?

I say a few request the other day and i would like to ask for one if its ok so may I please request a JiminxReader where they are co-workers, maybe a frienemies to lovers? and could you please highlight the fact reader has a mole somewhere special (shoulder, tigh, upper lip idk) that Jimin takes liking and loves kissing? thank youuuu xx

LOOK AT ME!!!! I'm FILLING A REQUEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DID SOME WRITING!!! LOOK, MA, NO HANDS!

Pairing: Jimin x reader (afab)

Genre: co-workers to lovers, slight enemies to friends to lovers

Summary: You were certain, when Jimin started at your company, that you were going to hate him. You had been wrong. Equally sure you were now that you were just friends. Just friends...

Word count: 5.1k

Content: oral (f. receiving), protected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, one very bad stupid joke because i couldn't not, they're both drunk/sobering up; pretend this is actually set somewhere and that place is probably in the UK (hence Jimin Park not Park Jimin)

This Meeting Should've Been an Email

JP: this meeting should’ve been an email 

YN: it should have been an email between the two of them 

YN: i don’t even know what we���re doing here 

JP: i'm online shopping 

YN: 😂 

YN: maybe i'll do the same 

YN: spend all the money they don’t pay me 

JP: atta girl! 

You were trying to keep your face neutral, pretending you were listening to the discussion at hand, paying attention so that, if they directed a question to you, you’d be able to answer. Working from home was preferable to working in the office in a thousand different ways, but you did hate sitting on camera in a meeting that didn’t require you. Acting had never been your strong suit. You bit your lip, then rolled both into your mouth to stop yourself smiling.  

JP: what do you think of this? 

Jimin sent a link to a shirt so expensive, your mouth gaped without permission. Black and sheer, blousy with fewer buttons than sleeves. It was certainly something, but you weren’t sure it qualified as clothing—not for that price. 

“Oh, I’ve just seen your face—is there something wrong?” your manager asked and you started. 

“No, not at all! Sorry!” 

You had no lie or excuse to give, so you hoped he wouldn’t probe. He didn’t. 

YN: why would you spend so much money on so little fabric? 

JP: it’s fucking beautiful, that’s why 

YN: more beautiful than rent? 

YN: or food? 

JP: yes 

* 

You drummed your fingers on the desk, willing yourself to do some work, to at least look like you were doing some work. 

You had got into the office early, as you liked to do, so had secured your favoured desk, in the back corner, where you could surf the internet (decidedly not working) as much as you liked without anyone able to see your screen.  

You had all the right programs open: databases, emails, teams, spreadsheets, and checklists. You just couldn’t bring yourself to do anything with them.  

Jimin had told you, first thing this morning, that he wasn’t going to come in today. You didn’t see the point of being there without him. Who would you go on unnecessary walks with, just to get out of working for ten minutes? Who would convince you that walking the further distance to the good coffee shop was definitely worth it, as were the pastries they sold that the closer one didn’t? Who would distract you for 75% of the day, if not Jimin? 

No one.  

You told yourself to do one task and then you could have a break. You turned back to your monitors and scanned your to-do list. You needed something quick and easy. Then an email came through from your manager. The subject alone made your stomach drop: Team changes!! The second exclamation mark wasn’t right at all. 

“Hi all, 

I’ve got some good news and bad news. 

Bad news: Jimin is leaving us! 

Good news: he’s got a great new position as a manager just down the road! 

We’ll have to have some discussions around resourcing in Ops and I’ll of course feed that back to you and we’ll arrange how we’ll cover Jimin’s tasks in the interim. I know he’ll have a lot to train you guys on before his last day, but we’re such a great team, I know we’ll manage! It’ll be a great loss, for sure, and we’ll all be sad to see him go, but I hope you can be happy for him, too.  

See you in the meeting at 2. 

Hugh” 

Anger simmered in your gut before you could be sad. The passive aggression of ‘I know he’ll have a lot to train you guys on’ and the fact that Jimin hadn’t told you. That you knew it would be months before anyone was hired in Jimin’s place and that you would be expected to pick up all the slack, for no credit and no extra pay. That he hadn’t told you. 

YN: you’re LEAVING?!?!?!!???!!?!?!?! 

JP: yep!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

YN: cannot believe you made me find out from HUGH 

JP: 😇😇😇 

YN: you’re not allowed to leave me here 

JP: you should quit too!!!! 

You left that one on read and decided to knuckle down to work. You had a lot to do, you decided, and it couldn’t be put off any longer. 

You felt weirder than you had expected to. Unsettled for the rest of the day. Not really able to focus, but your mind wasn’t busy—there was nothing in it. You couldn’t fill it with numbers or comms or monitoring. Couldn’t fill it with office gossip (there wasn’t any). You took yourself on a walk, for fresh air, hoping the breeze would blow away the cobwebs, but that didn’t work either.  

* * * 

“Hi, Jimin!” Chloe called from across the office when Jimin entered, only in his second week of work. 

“Hi!” he called back, walking away from your bank of desks and towards the ones at the other end of the room. 

You rolled your eyes. Pretty boys were the popular ones. Go figure. You had known he would ingratiate himself with that little group the moment you had met: there was something almost simpering about the way he behaved when introduced around the office. As if it was some sort of one-man parade in which he was the star. Arrogant, you decided. Arrogant with no reason to be. 

He had a dance background (even less relevant than your history degree) so it wasn’t as if he had any experience in this field. It was his first office job since graduating; he had graduated at the same time as you and had spent a year working in retail before landing this job. So he didn’t even necessarily have technical or communication skills. He just had a pretty face. And a dancer’s body. 

You couldn’t work out how he became everybody’s best friend within five minutes. Even less when you started hearing people calling across the office for him to help with this problem and that.  

“Jimin, can you show me how to do a purchase order again?” 

“Jimin, what supplier did you use for your banner?” 

“Jimin-” 

“Jimin-” 

“Jimin!” 

You knew you knew just as much as he did, if not more. You’d been here longer. You just weren’t as... all that. Didn’t have the sparkle or the smirk. Fine, you weren’t glamorous but this job wasn’t supposed to be about style. You got the work done and you did it without fanfare because you weren’t desperate for attention and praise. 

Unlike some people.  

* 

“Guess who got the promotion,” you said on the phone to your best friend. 

“Oh my god, is it you?! Did you get it?!?!?!?!!?” 

“Nope.” 

You ended the word with a hard pop and said no more. Wendy was quiet on the other end for a second. 

“You didn’t?” 

“Nope.” 

“Then who did?” 

“I’ll give you one fucking guess.” 

“Not Jimin.” 

“Of course it was Jimin!” 

You had been all but assured the next open spot that came up. It was virtually guaranteed! Until Jimin swanned in and swiped it from within your claws. 

“No fucking way.” 

“Way.” 

* 

You got the promotion after that but it wasn’t a sweet victory. Forever, you would have to live with the fact that Jimin was promoted ahead of you. Even though he had less experience and had worked there less time. Even though all the managers encouraged you to apply. It left a permanently bitter taste in your mouth.  

Then they had a shuffle of staff.  

And you ended up on a project team with him. 

* 

JP: I’ve finished all the documents for this submission; please let me know what you think! 

You’d have liked to tell him to go fuck himself. You’d have liked to open those documents and tear them to shreds, cover them in red tracked changes, and make him look like a fucking moron. 

But you couldn’t do that because they were good. Perfect, in fact. You wouldn’t have changed a thing.  

YN: look good to me. 

You always gave him a passive-aggressive full-stop. You couldn’t be out and out rude to him, both because it was unprofessional but also because he didn’t deserve it. He was good at this job, it turned out. Didn’t have a head for data, but didn’t need one because his talents elsewhere were just as valuable.  

You had begrudgingly traded some tasks with him when your team was first set-up (you gave him the worst ones, the ones you liked the least because you might have been forced to share but they hadn’t specified what) and you were too proud to admit that he was actually better at them. He had a much better eye for visuals; his external comms samples were always flashier and prettier and neater and more engaging than yours had been.  

He had suggested a slightly different tracking method for your monitoring and you had had to pretend to have wifi troubles and leave the meeting to seethe for a minute. 

He brought in snacks to the office when you had meetings scheduled and had the gall to remember that you didn’t really like chocolate. 

He covered for you when you were ill without complaint and without any mistakes. 

He started sitting next to you in the office so that you could talk about the project more easily.  

He started sending you gifs and memes.  

He started making cute, little jokes over private message when you were in meetings together.  

You started, somehow, somewhen, you didn’t know why, growing fond of Jimin Park. 

* 

And now look where you were.  

You were hurt that he didn’t tell you first. You were surprised. You were more than just work friends now, weren’t you? You had each other’s personal numbers! You spent time together outside of work (sometimes)! Didn’t that deserve a little confidence? He couldn’t have even mentioned that he was looking for work elsewhere?  

* 

“I haven’t forgiven you, you know,” you told him as he arrived at the office, taking the desk next to yours as he now always did.  

“For what?” 

“For leaving! And for not telling me!” 

He laughed and, ordinarily, you’d have laughed at yourself along with him, but you didn’t feel like it today. You didn’t want to be laughed at. You wanted him to take your feelings seriously. You wanted him to apologise. You wanted him to not leave.  

* 

You spoke about it reasonably often, his leaving, his new job. How excited he was. How nervous. How weird it would be to not see each other every day.  

You didn’t speak about how sad you really were that he was going. You didn’t speak about the sting of betrayal you still felt but didn’t want to investigate. You didn’t speak about how his quitting really, truly made you want to quit, too, even though you liked this job, even though you were (had been) happy there.  

* * * 

It came around all too quickly. Jimin’s last day. The office was packed because everyone wanted to see him off. Of course they did. Everyone loved Jimin.  

Including you.  

* 

“For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good feeeeelloowwwwwwww! Which nobody can deny!” 

No one had expected the unit director to be the life of the party and it was providing an excellent diversion from the sinking pit in your stomach. With every drink, the end drew nearer.  

It wasn’t as if you wouldn’t see Jimin ever again, but you wouldn’t see him as often. He would make new work friends. You would be replaced. There felt something so final about it all, this evening stretching as long and taut as you could make it.  

So taut it might snap. 

* 

You were the last two in the pub. You used to sneak out early together after work drinks; head back to your place or his and eat chips in front of something you both talked over; took yourself to your exclusive club-house for two where you could gossip about the evening and who got too drunk and who was making eyes at whom.  

But you didn’t want to leave tonight and Jimin was hosting so he couldn’t leave until the last guest did. 

Or until the pub kicked you out after last call. 

A bell rang. 

“Last call!” 

Fuck.  

“Think that’s time, baby!” Jimin cried, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “My last day at work is officially over!” 

You whined, too drunk to stop yourself. You knew you’d had one too many. Two too many. Perhaps the whole bottle of wine too many. But you had to keep drinking if you were staying at the pub, and you wanted to keep drinking so you’d stop feeling so weird and sad about this. You looked up at Jimin and he smiled back down at you.  

God, he was pretty.  

“Don’t go,” you said, lips pouting so hard they barely let the words out.  

Jimin laughed again.  

“Back to my place, then? Your favourite chippy is on the way!” 

“Absolutely!” 

The relief that washed over you was almost strong enough to knock you over. There was still a little more time.  

* 

You squabbled at the chip shop. You could hardly remember why even as you were stepping out of it. It had turned the night just a touch sour. You didn’t want that. But you’d take that over the ending of it.  

* 

“What do you want to watch?” Jimin asked as you flopped, heavily onto his sofa, box of chips in hand. 

You shrugged. 

“Any genre you particularly fancy?” 

“I literally don’t care,” you replied sharply. 

You felt more than saw the look on Jimin’s face and chose to ignore it. He came to sit next to you on the sofa and you felt a little suffocated. He was too close. You could smell him. His shampoo? His laundry detergent? You’d never quite been able to pin down just exactly what it was that made him smell so nice; the opportunities you’d had to get that close to him just hadn’t been enough.  

“Why do you smell so good?” you asked, though it sounded like an accusation.  

Jimin laughed. 

“I smell like a brewery and fryer oil!” 

“No, you don’t! You always smell good!” 

You were starting to hear it, how drunk you sounded, which, on the plus side, meant you were just starting to sober up.  

“Thank you,” he replied, a little more tight-lipped than he might normally have been.  

The conversation, if you could call it that, ended there. You watched the drama he had put on in silence, munching chips, and sipping water, and not talking. You were drunk and tired and had already said too many things you hadn’t meant to. You didn’t know about Jimin.  

You watched one episode and then another and then another and just as Jimin’s TV was asking if you were still even there, Jimin turned it off. 

“I’m calling it,” he said with a wide yawn. “I’m fucking tired.” 

That was your cue to leave. You were also tired. Heavy with alcohol and lack of sleep. Blood viscous like molasses. You didn’t want to go. 

“I don’t want to go.” 

Jimin blinked. His lips twitched and you knew he was laughing at you. This was not the script the two of you usually followed. Then he shrugged, allowing the smirk to cover his mouth.

“Ok, then, stay.” 

“I don’t want you to go. Don’t leave.” 

He chuckled. 

“Why would I leave? I live here!” 

“Work!” you cried, stumbling as you put a tingling, dead foot on the ground, coming to a stand. “Don’t leave work!” 

He groaned your name in a way you hadn’t heard before and it made your stomach flop. 

“Don’t keep saying that. It’s too late; I’m going!” 

“Don’t.” 

“You going to miss me that badly?” 

You just looked at him. Couldn’t bring yourself to confirm it. Yes. Yes, you were. Yes, you would. Yes, you missed him already. Missed him so much you wanted to pull him closer. Wanted to tangle your fingers in his hair. Wanted to- 

Fuck. 

You started, taking a small step back. 

You wanted him. 

To kiss him. To touch him. To see him. To know him. Not to be his work friend. Not to be his friend. To be his. His. 

It hit you like a ton of bricks and you didn’t know if you wanted to cry or throw up. Maybe both. You weren’t sure how much of it was down to the alcohol and how much to the emotional slap in the face you’d just given yourself.  

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Jimin said, his eyes wide and cute, his smile a little rueful. “So much.” 

You felt something. Something charged. The hairs on your neck pricked. 

“How much?” you asked, voice escaping you in a whisper.  

“So much that it makes me not want to go.” 

You felt your eyes drawn to his, had no choice but to look him in his sweet face, his dark, swirling eyes glinting in the low lamplight. You couldn’t tear them away. Couldn’t move. Felt suspended in this second that stretched and stretched and stretched until it couldn’t stretch anymore. 

“Ji-” 

His name wasn’t out of your mouth before his lips were on it. Soft. Plush. Sweet with wine. His tongue swiped at your lower lip and you were eager to let him in, to taste him, to satisfy the hunger that had reared its ugly head, jaw gaping, teeth dripping, that must have been lying in wait, biding its time, hiding itself even from you.  

There was no denying it now.  

You didn’t talk as Jimin pulled you closer. Didn’t speak as he pulled your tucked-in T-shirt from the waistband of your jeans to slip his hands underneath. Didn’t make a sound when his fingers deftly picked at the clasp of your bra, instantly springing free, to allow his hands beneath that, too.  

Could only just stop yourself moaning when his lips met the sensitive skin on your neck at the same moment as his thumb brushed over your nipple. You couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t make a sound. The silence was so loud and you didn’t want to disturb it, even though what he was doing to you felt so good. Felt so unreal. You didn’t want the noise to puncture it, this bubble, this fantasy, this something that was happening that had been so unexpected even though it, now, felt like it had been a long time coming.  

Then Jimin moaned. Removed his lips from your skin and opened his mouth, letting sound spill from it freely, almost wantonly, as he pulled you even closer. Close enough to feel him against you which set your knees trembling.  

He looked at you, a little hesitation in his eyes, the hem of your top in his hands. You still couldn’t speak, just nodded, put your hands over his and pulled upwards. Watched in stunned silence when he unbuttoned his own shirt, let it fall to the floor.  

It occurred to you then that you had never seen this Jimin before. Not just the kissing and the erection and the arousal pooling in your underwear. You hadn’t even seen him topless. Had never seen the fine trail of hair that dipped beneath his waistband. Had never known he had a tattoo across his ribs.  

Never mind. 

You’d have scoffed if you’d had half a mind about you. Never mind.  

You were minding all this very, very much.  

You reached out to touch him, pressing the pads of your fingers to his chest lightly, testing to make sure he was real. He was. Soft and smooth and rippling with goosebumps under your fingers.  

“Fuck,” you whispered, finally finding your voice.  

“Yes, let’s,” he replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  

You laughed, then laughed some more, shocked at your own surprise.  

Fuck! 

Fuck!! 

Jimin’s mouth was on yours again, more urgent this time. His hands, too, flying over your body, gripping here, pinching there, slipping inside your jeans, flicking the button open and dragging down the zip. You retaliated, pushing his undone trousers to the floor, pushing your hand into his boxers, encircling his hot, hard cock with your fingers. The wobbly whine that trembled out of him made your core clench. 

“Jimin,” you said, breathlessly, calling his attention to your face. 

He held your gaze there for a second, a second or two or three—his hand groping at your backside, yours around his shaft—and then you didn’t need to say anymore. He was grabbing at your jeans and your underwear, pushing them down your legs, pushing you onto the sofa, kissing at your face and your jaw and your neck, all the way down, to your breasts to your navel to the crease of your hips and further.  

You couldn’t have been silent, even if you’d still wanted to be. The wet muscle of his tongue laved over you, all over you, exploring, familiarising, teasing until you were grabbing at his hair, nails scraping his scalp. 

“Jimin!” 

You wanted to shout, to demand, but you only gasped, only whined, your breath taken from you as his lips closed around your clit. Still, it seemed he’d got the message.  

You writhed beneath him as he sucked, as his fingers slipped easily inside you, curling against you insistently while his tongue flicked over your swollen bud, as his lips sucked, as you bucked and twisted and spasmed beneath him. You could have said it was too much, this was too much, but it was Jimin, and suddenly ‘too much’ seemed impossible. You’d have died under him. You’d have let him go forever. As long as he liked. Though you were twitching and squirming and your legs clamped around his head, he didn’t stop. Didn’t stop until you were screaming from one orgasm to another, gushing over his hand, being lapped up into his mouth. Until you were seeing stars. Until your breath barely came in, went panting out in sharp staccato gasps. Until he pulled back, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, mouth wet and shiny, and sat back on his heels.  

“Fuck,” he said and his voice was tight, hoarse, sounded strained.  

Strained like his boxers, still covering him if only barely. He palmed at them, eyelids fluttering, head tipping back.  

“Fuck,” he said again as he brought his face back down to you, as he scattered kisses across your torso. “I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long.” 

The words didn’t register, didn’t hit, because his lips were still moving against you, his hands brushing up your sides and over your breasts, cupping them up to his mouth so he could lick over your pebbled nipples, suck them into his mouth one at a time. You were dazed. 

But not done. 

“Jimin, please.”  

“Please what?” he returned, teeth grazing lightly over the shell of your ear, breath hot and wet against your shivering skin.  

“Please fuck me. Please.” 

He grinned, the glitter in his eyes turning wicked.  

“I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long, too.” 

He abandoned you, briefly, supine on the sofa, as he at last shucked off his underwear and fumbled in his wallet for the condom that was closest to hand.  

He knelt back over you and you felt him at your entrance, one hand holding him there and the other pulling at your thigh, positioning you where he wanted you, how he wanted you. 

He could have you however. As long as he had you.  

“Ready?” he asked, as if he had to. As if you weren’t already tipping your hips trying to capture him, as if your walls weren’t fluttering already, as if you hadn’t made a great mess of his sofa cushions.  

“Yes.” 

You groaned in unison as he slowly pushed into you. You hadn’t expected him to feel this big, stretching you as you squeezed him, as he continued to push until he was fully seated, settled inside you, all the way in.  

He lowered himself onto his elbows, nudged your nose with his, kissed you. Slow and deep, his body unmoving. You wondered what was stopping him, tilted your hips a little, wrapped your legs around him, clenched tight until he shuddered with a gasped laugh. 

“If you don’t want me to come like, immediately, you’re going to have to stop that.” 

You laughed back, in disbelief, still not really experiencing this as the Real Deal, still convinced this might be a dream. That Jimin was fucking you—was not fucking you right now because he needed a second to gather himself, a second to keep it together so he could fuck you.  

You relaxed yourself as much as you could, stroked his hair, flicked his earlobe with your tongue and bit down lightly on the soft flesh. Let your mouth explore where it could reach.  

“Jimin,” you whined, when he still hadn’t moved. “Please.”  

He didn’t reply; his face was tucked into your neck and you could feel his heavy breathing there. You were two seconds from begging again when he finally moved. He dragged backwards, slowly, and shot forward, fast and hard. Then he did it again. And again. His hips moved fluidly; his arms caged you in securely; his lips sucked soft against your skin.  

He had worried it would be quick, but you were sure time was slowing down. It was stretching itself over this moment so that it lasted forever, so that each time Jimin slammed his hips against yours, it took an age; every kiss lasted an hour; every gasp became a long, drawn-out sigh. This wasn’t quick; it was eternal. It was elemental. 

It brought you into your body in a way that made you feel more than human. That made you feel animal. That made you feel pure and unshackled and unburdened. That made you feel free. Free because all you had to pursue was pleasure. All you had to concern yourself with was your body and his and the way they came together. There was no time, no loss, no rush, no ending, nothing to spoil the sanctity of this coupling.  

It wasn’t always like this. You’d been around the block enough to know that this could have ended differently. On another night, you might have been lying on someone else’s sofa, waiting for it to end because you were simply bored now, because they had been all talk and no trousers, because they weren’t doing it right and you couldn’t be bothered to correct them.  

Jimin didn’t need correcting. He was, as ever, a fucking overachiever. His girth pushed against your g-spot with every thrust and his length made each drag deep and lasting. You wondered if there was anything he couldn’t do. 

Then he pushed himself up onto one hand and used his free hand to push low on your abdomen as he continued to piston against you. The gasp it stole from you was choked and you felt your legs twitch, tighten, pull close as the rest of your body collapsed inward, too. He reached his thumb down, pressed it against your clit and let the snap of his hips move you, just slightly, just enough that it was teasing again, that you could feel him in a way that suddenly was not quite enough. Was maddening. 

“Jimin,” you keened, sweat dripping down your spine as your back arched from the sofa. 

“Say it again.” 

“Jimin.” 

“Again.” 

“Fuck, Jimin.” 

He growled, deep in his throat, and your hips jerked as he pressed his thumb harder against you, swirled it in circles, rough and quick until you were coming again, gasping, squirming, clawing at his arms, your back threatening to snap in two. He kept his teeth clenched as he fucked you through it, as he pushed through the tight spasms of your cunt, as he fought to last until the end, until your body flopped, spent and lead-heavy into the cushions. 

Only then did he let go, did he give a final few thrusts, did he moan loud and long as he came.  

He flopped beside you on the sofa and you lay there, breathing heavily in a silence that felt light. You felt his lips press at your clavicle, his fingers then tracing the same spot. Then his lips again. 

“What?” you asked. 

“You’ve got a little mole here,” he murmured, still directing most of his attention towards it. “I haven’t noticed before... I like it.”  

You hummed, satisfied, heart secretly thrilling. You let him kiss you, back and across the straight line of collar bone, flicking his tongue over your mole. What dedicated attention you hadn’t had for such a long time.  

You could feel your eyelids droop, felt as though maybe you should clear some things up before you passed out; you weren’t sure you’d make it that far. Then Jimin spoke, cutting through that drunken, post-coital haze. 

“Never shit where you eat.” 

“What?” 

He looked at you. 

“Never shit where you eat. I don’t fuck coworkers.” 

Reality came crashing in on you like a tsunami. 

You were coworkers. No, you had been coworkers. You weren’t anymore, because Jimin was leaving. Had left. Had worked his last day, celebrated in the pub, and then fucked you into the sofa. Had fucked his former coworker. You.  

“So you’re saying, all this time...?” 

He shrugged. 

“Not necessarily all this time. But yeah... You?” 

You shrugged back. 

“Literally wasn’t aware of it until tonight. Until you were trying to get me to leave.” 

He laughed breathlessly. 

“I wasn’t trying to get you to leave. I was trying to get you into bed.” 

“Oh.” 

A beat. 

“Well, you didn’t do a very good job, did you?” 

He laughed again, full-throated this time. 

“We fucked, didn’t we?” 

“On the sofa.” 

He swatted your arm playfully. 

“Technicality. I still say it counts.” 

“That’s the sort of carelessness and lack of attention to detail that’ll get you fired, y’know?” 

“Oh, you’re firing me?” 

“Perhaps I am.” 

“Wow, fired on my first day. My parents will be so disappointed in me.” 

“First day?” 

You looked up at Jimin, heart racing wildly. None of this had been expected; none of this was sinking in. Did a first day necessarily imply a second? A third? More?  

“First of many... If you want.” 

You did want. You nodded.  

“Great,” he said softly, gently pressing his lips to yours. “We’ll have a meeting in the morning to discuss my probation.” 

“A meeting? Nah, this could be an email.” 

[mbappeslover]

écoute chérie // kylian mbappé | part one.

kylian mbappé x f! reader.

saw this edit on tiktok, they edited mbappé to écoute chérie by vendredi sur mer and… i fell in love. the song is sooo mbappé.

y/n got the job as kylian’s personal assistant. his previous assistant fired for unknown reasons. y/n had heard about kylian mbappé and his terrible attitude. she wasn’t excited to work with him. but, turns out.. he’s actually not that bad.

read part 2 here.

read the finale here.

credits to the editor: strkvoid on tiktok, they did such an amazing job <3, my favorite mbappé edit.

“y/n y/l/n, you’ve been accepted!” the notification pinged and appeared at the top of your screen. you clicked on it so fast.

one week ago.

“y/n, have you seen this? kylian mbappé’s management is looking for a new personal assistant.” your friend tells you during a phone call.

“oh really?” you ask.

“yes… and, you qualify for it! like a 100 percent. wait, i’m gonna send you the link.”

you received the message and clicked on the link, it was indeed an exclusive offer/application to becoming the footballer’s new personal assistant.

“y/n, you should really go for it. the pay is amazing and i’m sure it’ll be an awesome experience.”

you skim through the countless pages and listing of requirements and benefits the job offered. plus, you were indeed qualified for the job.

“mmm… i don’t know. everyone talks about how much of an asshole kylian mbappé is. how he’s a jackass with a shitty attitude and an unbearable ego, bigger than the universe.” you explain, iffy about this whole thing.

“oh please, it’s not like you’re gonna be all lovey dovey with the guy. imagine how much money you’ll be making. you want to quit your current job right now anyway.” your friend says, trying her hardest to convince you.

you laugh. “okay, you’re right. i’ll call you back, i’m gonna read through all the paper work, submit my résumé and update you on it.”

you weren’t too serious about it, you doubted that you’d actually get the job.

everything just got real. definitely serious.

you got the job, you were on call with the footballer’s management, and you were now getting familiarized with his schedule.

“alright, ms. y/l/n, we’ve spoken through all the things you’ll be needing to do for kylian. i’ve sent you an email of a file that lists all the things you must do for him. now, all we need is for you to sign a few things. it’ll take you about ten minutes. it wasn’t much before but… some things went down. so, we had to make a few arrangements.” kylian’s manager stated.

you just nod taking everything in and trying to process it at once.

you heard the ping from your phone, signaling you got the email.

“okay, perfect. today, i’ll show you around psg and tomorrow you’ll be meeting kylian.”

a tour guide took you around the stadium, briefly explaining different areas and rooms in the building to you.

it was a long day. you were now in bed, aimlessly scrolling on instagram because you couldn’t sleep.

you’re nervous. why?

the athlete you’ll be attending to is possibly the biggest asshole in paris, france and you’re gonna have to deal with it.

you decide to go on his instagram.

“k. mbappé, 94.1m Followers, 389 Following, 1204 posts.”

you click on the first photo presented and begin scrolling down.

in almost all photos he’s smiling, with a caption full of emojis and empowering words.

he looks so… sweet?

is this the same guy with the so-called “bad attitude?”

you fell asleep.

after scrolling through all one thousand, two hundred and four posts by kylian mbappé.

your alarm rang, loudly.

you groaned, getting up to prepare yourself for the day.

after getting dressed, you received a call from kylian’s manager.

“good mornin-“ you tried greeting politely, before cut off.

“good morning dear, i need you here in ten minutes.”

“it’s only 9:00, i was told to be there at 9:30. did something happen?” you ask, exasperated.

“yeah, well, kylian decided to come earlier than we thought and right now, he wants an organic green juice from le juice. it has to be from juicerie.” the manager explains.

“le juice is like fifteen minutes from where i am right now, how will i be able to make it in ten?” you say, slightly panicking.

“well, find a way. mbappé cares about his health, a lot. all that stuff about nutrition and good food is the key to health. if you didn’t know, now you do. be here in ten, please darling!” the managers says in a cheery voice before hanging up.

first day on the job and they were already trying to make the impossible, possible.

you quickly go on the website for le juice and order and paid online for a medium organic green juice for pick-up.

you catch a taxi and head over to le juice. it was a five minute drive because it was still a bit early and the streets hadn’t start to fill yet, luckily.

you ask the taxi driver if they could wait for a quick second while you grab the order from inside.

the taxi driver fussed a bit yet ultimately decided to wait.

again, you were able to swipe up the juice since the shop just opened and customer didn’t pile up in the juice bar.

you hop back in the taxi and make your way to the stadium.

“tsk, your first day on the job and you’re seven minutes late. you better hurry up and get in there.” the manager scolds you once you arrive, outside the office room of psg.

“well, you should’ve told me i would have to be here earlier, you cunt.”

you didn’t actually say that, you thought it, but, you didn’t say it.

you quickly enter the room, with a little a stumble, almost tripping on your own feet. you quickly laugh at how much of a mess you are.

the room is packed, there’s people everywhere, most likely other staff members. you see at the corner of the room, there’s a small crowd of people surrounding something.

you squeeze in between people, trying to find a way through.

“excuse me. yea, sorry. my apologies. let me just squeeze in. i’m sorry.” you murmur out while gliding through the people in the packed room.

that’s when you were faced with him.

he’s exactly like those photos on the internet, a vibrant face, smiling while the people around him asks him questions like how’s his morning, would he like anything to drink, trivial things to simply make conversation. 

the infamous kylian mbappé.

you cleared your throat, put on your most brightest smile and polite voice.

“mr. mbappé, this is your organic green juice.” you say, putting your hand out to give the drink.

the area becomes quiet as the attention shifts on you.

you briefly look around confused.

and the smile that was once on kylian’s face had disappeared.

it was replaced with a hard stoned, cold glare.

“the fuck?” you thought.

he grabs the drink from your hand, not even thanking you before continuing the small talk with staff around him.

you try your hardest not to make a face at his rude behavior.

you brush it off.

literally.

brushing yourself off, taking a deep breath. putting on a polite voice again, you introduce yourself.

“hello, my name is y/n. i’m sure your manager already told you about me, i am your new personal assistant. if you ever need me, for anything, feel free to let me know. that’s my job, of course.” adding in a little humor to lighten the atmosphere, reaching your hand out.

once again, the area of the room goes silent. his smile falls once again and he slowly turns to look at you.

“d'accord. où est ma paille?” (okay. where is my straw?)

the crowd laughs.

you reach out your bag, handing him the straw before walking away.

“the rumors are true. he’s insufferable. literally an asshole. a two-faced scum? who even treats someone like that? no wonder his old assistant left. who’d want to deal with that.” you were now on the phone with your friend who encouraged you to apply.

“y/n, calm down. i know it was frustrating, but, it’s just your first day. at least quit after you get your first check.” your friend said, trying to comfort you.

yea, that’s right. y/n cried. cried very hard. today was extremely difficult.

you followed kylian everywhere, attempting to tend to his needs, but, all he did was be rude or downright ignore you.

“sir, how are you feeling? would you like for me to schedule a massage for you, in case you are feeling tense?” you ask.

“do i look tense to you?”

“mr. mbappé, your manager has informed me that you have a meeting on friday at 3pm.”

“who makes meetings on friday? i’m not going, you’re going. i have to relax.”

“mr. mbappé-“

“please stop bothering me. aren’t you my assistant? why must you keep calling out my name, you’re here to handle my business.”

“i don’t even know what i did to him? why should i get treated like this? it makes no sense.” you complain to your friend.

“i’m sure it’ll get better eventually… hopefully.”

“yea, hopefully.”

it’s been two weeks, working as kylian mbappé’s personal assistant.

to say y/n felt drained would be an understatement.

fourteen endless days of talking to a brick, solid wall.

a brick, solid wall with snarky remarks and a stinky attitude.

“mr. mbappé, your driver is outside waiting for you. he has the specific refreshments you asked for.” y/n says.

“alright, walk me to the car.” he says.

y/n’s concerned because he usually just nods and walks to the car himself.

as the two makes their way to the car, kylian starts conversation.

“your name, y/n, right?”

this is weird.

so weird.

“yes, sir. y/n y/l/n.”

“alright y/n, can you cook?”

“yes, i can cook, why?” y/n questions.

“génial. je veux que tu cuisines pour moi. (great. i want you to cook for me).” kylian says nonchalantly.

y/n stops dead in her tracks as kylian continues to walk.

“so, now i have to cook for this man? really?

well, it is your job…

oh, shut up. i know that!

just saying…” you internally battle with yourself.

he turns around, “well are you coming? i don’t have all day and i’m starving.”

you snap out of it, speed-walking to catch up.

“why are you standing by the door?”

you were in your bosses house. well, it’s not out of the ordinary because you are his personal assistant.

however, this is a drastic jump from a few days ago, when he didn’t even want you near him.

“are you okay, mr. mbappé? it looks pretty bad. i can go get you some soothing gel!”

he hurt himself pretty badly while trying to perform a trick during practice.

“no! i’m fine. don’t touch me, move!”

he spat out, stumbling to get up by himself.

you back up in utter shock.

other staff runs up to offer him support as he limps away.

mbappé’s pov:

his new personal assistant stood at the door, looking like a lost puppy that was left for dead on a rainy night.

kylian knew he was being hard on her, harsh to her. but, he couldn’t let his guard down.

he refused to let history repeat itself.

“why are you standing by the door?” he asks.

y/n seemed to be lost in her thoughts when he said that because she snapped up and made her way into the house after taking off her tory burch sandals.

kylian observed the woman as she subtly looked around the place before making her way to the kitchen.

he couldn’t lie. she was beautiful. she could be on the cover of a makeup magazine because of how natural and pretty her features were.

he wishes he could see her smile. most of the time she wears a frown on her face, sometimes a pout that kylian finds endearing. he wouldn’t show that though. or.. say it, ever.

her hair looked so soft, her voice was so nice on the ear. she had a nice figure, ones of a dancer, delicate, light on the feet.

“mr. mbappé? did you hear what i said? i asked, what exactly would you like for me to cook?” she said. he loved her voice, utterly. like a bee, wanting to drown in honey. he wanted to drown in her voice, listen to it forever.

“call me kylian.”

for some reason, he finds himself wanting to get to know her. get closer to her.

y/n’s pov:

‘oh God, he’s staring.’ you think to yourself.

y/n has made her way to the kitchen after taking in the penthouse. it was so nice and luxurious. she wondered how much or how long she’d have to work before ever living in a place like this.

she began looking in the cabinets, taking out a few pots and pans before realizing her boss didn’t even tell her what he wanted to eat.

“mr. mbappé, what exactly would you like for me to cook.” y/n says, an attempt to ease the tension.

‘he’s still staring. what the hell is wrong with him?’

“mr. mbappé? did you hear what i said? i asked, what exactly would you like for me to cook?” she repeats.

he looks you straight in the eye.

“call me kylian.”

you two continue making eye contact, you thought you’d feel uncomfortable, but, it’s rather… nice? it feels nice. it’s the first he’s ever actually acknowledged you.

you break the eye contact, clearing your throat.

“alright, if you don’t have anything set in mind, i’ll just cook and try to make do with whatever you have here.” you say.

it’s been about 50 minutes and you’re finally done cooking. you made steak & farfalle pasta with creamy tomato sauce.

kylian went into his bedroom since you began cooking and hadn’t come out. but, you did hear faint music coming from his room.

you begin to plate his food nicely, setting it on the kitchen island with a glass cup of ice water.

luckily, you clean along the way while cooking so there wasn’t a mess. you were tired, you wanted to get home and unwind.

you walk up to his bedroom door, about to knock, when the door swings open.

“oh! i was just about to knock. the food is ready.” you say slightly surprised.

he doesn’t say anything.

but, you could care less. your attention shifts to the song being played in the background.

“is that écoute chérie by vendredi sur mer? i love that song so much.” you say excitingly, completely forgetting that you’re at work. technically.

“yeah, it is. i love that song too.” he replies with a small chuckle.

‘did he just chuckle? with me? did kylian mbappé, my rude ass boss. chuckle… with me?’

you smile, looking at the small smile that adorned his face as he chuckled.

you won. you’re winning mbappé over.

mbappé’s pov:

he was in his room, sipping on some expensive red wine from a brewery that gifted him some.

he felt at peace, moments like these to himself. drinking something, listening to music, letting loose.

not only that, but, most likely, he could smell the aroma from the food his personal assistant, y/n was making for him.

its been a little while, he was gonna go check on the food.

his favorite song comes on.

“partir, venir, mourir, courir.”

what a lovely song. he sings to himself, along the chant before making his way to the door.

opening it, there she was.

“oh! i was just about to knock. the food is ready.” she says, obviously a little spooked.

he doesn’t care about that, though. the more he looked at her, the more time he spent around her, the harder it got to suppress his obvious attraction to the woman.

he visibly sees something click in her head as she moves from his sight to get a better hearing of what was being played.

“is that écoute chérie by vendredi sur mer? i love that song so much.” she says.

‘God, she’s so cute.’ he thinks to himself.

“yeah, it is. i love that song too.” he says, trying to hold back the ‘awe’ he wants to say so bad.

she smiles.

kylian felt like his heart could explode.

without absolutely zero exaggeration, she has got to have an award for having the most beautiful smile in the universe.

that smile right there—convinced kylian that he would make it his mission to always see that smile as long as y/n’s around him.

y/n turns around, leading him to his meal.

his stomach grumbles as he lay eyes on the food. it looks delicious. better than any five star michelin restaurant he’s been to. would probably taste better as well.

he’s confused, though. there’s only one plate of food.

he turns to y/n.

“where’s your food?”

“oh, i only made food for you, sir-“

“kylian, call me kylian.”

“yes, i’m sorry, kylian.”

“i’m gonna wait here for you to finish your food so i can wash your plate, then i’ll be out your hair, if that’s fine with you, kylian.”

he knows he can’t just let her leave like that.

he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he thinks he knows what he wants.

“that’s fine. come sit down.” he says, pulling out the chair next to him.

y/n hesitantly makes her way and gets seated. kylian slides over the glass of ice water to her.

“no, it’s for you.” y/n explains.

“i know, but, just drink it. i have some wine in my room.”

“okay, do you want me to go get it and pour some out for you?” y/n says, about to make her way there when kylian gently pulls her down.

“no, no, it’s fine. relax.” he says.

kylian begins eating, almost scarfing the food down.

y/n takes a sip of the water while looking at him eat.

“is it good?” y/n asks.

he stops for a second, chewing and swallowing what’s in his mouth.

“very. best meal i’ve had in a long time, y/n. thank you.” he says with a genuine smile on his face.

y/n smiles back before bringing the glass cup up to her lips and drinking some more water.

“so, y/n, how old are you?” he says, finishing up his food.

“i turned 24 a few months ago.” y/n says.

“really? i turned 24 a few months ago as well.”

“i know that, you’re the star of france.” y/n says with a small smile on her face.

he smiles at her again.

y/n couldn’t take it.

‘this is awfully weird. why is he being so… nice. it was concerning.’ she thinks to herself.

silence takes over the room and the only sound being the fork hitting against the glass plate as kylian takes a bite of the pasta.

“kylian, why are you so mean to me?”

“y/n, i know i haven’t been the nicest to you…”

they say at the same time. they both laugh.

“you go first.” kylian offers to y/n.

“alright, i was asking. why are you so mean to me? did i do.. something.”

kylian sighs deeply, “no y/n, you did nothing wrong, but, a lot happened before that’s making me like that towards you. just know i don’t mean it.” he explain.

“well, what happened?”

“i’ll tell you later.” kylian says finishing the food.

y/n took the plate and glass cup, made her way to the sink and began washing the dishes.

y/n wondered, what was on his mind. what was he thinking about.

too deep in thought to not see her boss, kylian. staking right next to her, leaning on the countertop.

she finishes cleaning the plate and cup.

she turned to her left, her soul jumping out her chest.

“kylian! why are you always sneaking up on people.” y/n said, laughing off the remaining shock with a hand over her heart.

“sorry, sorry, i just like looking at you.” he laughs.

y/n laughs too.

“oh really?”

“OH? REALLY?” she says backtracking because it registered to y/n what he said.

“yes. you’re beautiful.” he says, stepping a teeny closer to the beautiful woman in front of him.

y/n blushes.

“the food was really good as well. i really wish you would’ve ate with me.” he says.

“i’m just your assistant. i don’t want to break any of your boundaries. i respect you.” y/n says.

“i respect you.” kylian replays it in his head.

he already had a slight crush on y/n, but, this was different.

he has a crush on y/n.

“wow, you’re making me feel like shit for treating you the way i did. i respect you, too. say, come over again tomorrow. if you make me something to eat again, i’ll tell you what happened.” he says with a smile on his face.

y/n remains silent. she was thinking.

‘is kylian mbappé flirting with me?’

there’s no way.

yes there is! look at the way he’s looking at you. he wants you!’ you weigh out to yourself.

kylian think it’s adorable. the way y/n constantly looks like a lost puppy.

he bends down a bit, leveling himself to y/n’s height to get her attention.

“everything alright in there?” kylian says.

y/n seems to still be in deep thought when kylian giggles.

he takes his index finger, placing it underneath y/n’s chin, lifting it up.

he looks her in the eye.

he wants to kiss her, her lips look so soft. he’s 100% sure if their lips were to simply graze across one another, he’d still love it. be addicted to it.

y/n looks back into his eyes, feeling her heart beat and her stomach start to flutter.

“deal or no deal?” kylian says as he tilts his head to the side.

y/n eyes drops to kylian’s lips. they were the perfect size and naturally protruded out.

she imagined how it’d feel. probably like a pillow, or, maybe a marshmallow.

y/n eyes make its way back to kylian’s.

she made up her mind.

“deal.” she says before gently removing his finger from her chin. she gathered her bags and made her way to the door, kylian following right behind.

she slipped on her sandals as kylian unlocked & opened the door.

y/n walks out, before turning to kylian who stood by the door.

“goodnight.”

“goodnight.”

they say together.

the two laugh.

“till next time then, goodnight mr. mbappé.” y/n says.

“it’s kylian and i’ll call you tomorrow. make sure you answer. goodnight, y/n.” he says, smiling.

a/n (author’s note):

i am confident in this at all.. i feel like it could be way better but i wanted to hurry and publish something to whoever’s waiting. i’ve been so busy and tired with school :,(. it was supposed to only have one part but i didn’t wanna rush the plot too much.

i tried something new with the whole “pov” thing. and, i hope it’s not too confusing because i switch from 2nd point of view to 3rd a lot.

i guarantee part 2 will be more exciting than this. thanks for reading!

[painted-bees]

You know, if/when Margie ever goes to get assessed for ADHD or such, it'll be over some executive function-related failure on a project that she had hoped would prove to her that she can excel at things so long as she actually 'cares' about them. It'd be something music related for sure--maybe some kind of collaborative videogame music charity thing that some other online music nerds have organized together--I dunno what the indie online musician equivalent of a "zine" is lmfao

Like, it's not even a big prestige thing, and she's not getting any money from it--but it's an exciting project and she gets to compose covers of her favorite viddy game songs and have her music featured alongside other artists she enjoys. But--you know, there's a hard deadline. And there are certain expectations--she want's to make something good and memorable with this.

She gets started on it, and it's going well--well enough for her to be like, "great, I can come back to this later and I'll have it done no problem!" And then she forgets. And then she gets a reminder in her email that submissions are due by the end of the week. The email was sent on Monday, it's Thursday evening. She panics, and tries to put together the rest of the composition that same night, dismayed beyond words that she had put this thing off until literally the last minute. And it's not coming together, she had this great sound and idea in her head, and now it's failing to materialize for her. Her mounting frustration and panic has built up past being a helpful motivator, and is now actively sabotaging her efforts until she can't do anything but cry about it. It's 3 am, the work isn't done, it's isn't going to get done...she utterly failed. At this thing she's good at, that she wanted to do, that she was eager to be a part of.

Materially, she loses nothing by being like "well, I can ask for an extension, and if that's not possible then oh well." It wasn't a paid gig, it wasn't some huge, prestigious feature, there were no awards or accolades on the line, really. But it was supposed to be an easy thing she could do to remind herself that she's perfectly capable at completing things if she just--yanno--cares enoug, puts her mind to it and deems it worth her effort. It was supposed to be easy self-reassurance. And she failed.

and so she's crying in the wee hours of the morning over some small, unremarkable thing that she had chosen to do, for free, in her spare time because she hung all her confidence and self-worth on her ability to complete it in a manner that she could be proud of.

And Raf's the one holding her, trying to figure out how to impress on her that this whole fiasco is not...a suitable way of measuring her worth. Like--it's not proof that she's 'lazy'. This isn't what laziness looks like, this isn't what a "lack of care" or "lack of motivation" looks like. Ugly crying over a low-stakes, free-time, "for fun" project after forcing yourself to work fruitlessly through the night is...disordered. Like, Raf of all people, gets it. He completely understands lmao but it requires attention and help. It's not the first time he's suggested to Margie that she should book an assessment. He's offered to help her get the process started several times in the past. She's always been very "yeahhh...nah" about it. He figured it was because she was afraid of being told that there was something """wrong """ with her. Which--he empathized with a lot, and so never really pressed her about it.

But, over this specific event, it becomes clear that what Margie is most afraid of is hearing and knowing definitively that's there's nothing wrong with her. She worries that her inability to complete things on time, to remember things, to keep organized and clean and to prioritize things is just something everyone has to deal with, and they just care enough to deal with it properly--while she has somehow internalized that crying about it means she won't have to worry about it anymore. Maybe cuz she was spoiled growing up, like her parents use to suggest; that she was never truly forced to face the consequences of her inaction. And, for what ever reason, that'd mean she's just...a bad person.

And once Raf realizes that this is what has been keeping her away from getting assessed, he commits to fully pleading with her to get assessed, promising that no possible outcome will change his opinion of her at his very core. And it works. He's able to get a referral for her from his therapist, gets her booked, and over the course of three appointments, she goes through the assessment--feeling an undeterred mix of anxiety and shame all the while 'cus what if they just think "this girl walks in with a latte and a 'problem' but her real problem is that she has never experienced a real struggle in her life lol" or "she's exaggerating things just so she can get drugs, no way is anyone actually this stupid" or "this is a huge waste of time". That's not how it turns out, of course. Between the self assessment, the assessment she had to give to 3 trusted friends/family members to fill out, the IQ test, the cognitive ability tests, and whatever else happened during the dialogue between her and the psychologist--Margie gets her ADHD diagnosis and an autism diagnosis. She gets Raf to sit in with her while the psychologist goes over the results with her, 'cus she doesn't trust her ability to recite any of that information to him herself afterward lmao To her surprise (and to Raf's quiet, triumphant validation for calling it correctly), Margie's IQ is, apparently, a very sexy 136...but is undercut by remarkably low results on tests pertaining to certain cognitive abilities--to the point of qualifying as significant impairments.

On the list of treatments, medication is suggested as a footnote following a list of things including therapy, habit-building and behavioral exercises, dietary suggestions, and further reading suggestions. Which comes to her as a relief, because it's gonna take her a few more years before she's comfortable with the idea of medicating (imagining in her mind that one unfortunate unofficial Calvin and Hobbes comic that has made her fear losing her enthusiasm for her creative musical endeavors lmao). Until then though, the therapy is, perhaps, the most helpful treatment suggestion on that list. Aside from contributing to supportive mental/emotional/behavioral exercises--after the initial relief of "omg there WAS something wrong, I'm not just a bad, lazy, uncaring person!!"--the backlog of hurt that follows the "I needed help but they punished me instead" revelation provides a lot to work through.

[notedchampagne]

Bro the 6th familial relationships fuck me up so much like the weird Juno and Pal more of a mentor than a mother vibes? And it seems like from Dr Sex that her and Pal's dad are either divorced or just straight up had nothing to do with each other until the genomics department decided they should have a child together?? Like imagine you're a ruthless academic career-woman and one day you get an email from the government like 'congrats! You're a mother!' And they hand you a fresh vat baby that is half you and half your co-worker that you talked to one time at the Christmas party like??? I don't think I would have the most healthy relationship with that child either tbh

And Cam! Earlier in Nona when Pal and Pyrrha are talking about going to the park it is only Kiki that he mentions she might want to save, no mention that apparently both her parents are there too? Her entire family is on the line here. Then she doesn't want her dads to see the Paul transformation because they "wouldn't understand"? You just know there's some long running disagreement there with how far she's yoking herself in with Pal. Do you think they secretly resent him? Did this cause a rift in their family? And what did the conversation look like before or after the transformation? Did Cam tell them she was about to die? Or did they turn away for five seconds and she finally killed herself for her obsessions behind their back? Who broke the news to them? (Who is going to break the news to Pal's dad?) The whole thing just makes me insane!!!!

Also apparently there is some incredible nepotism going on in the 6th oversight body here (or maybe everything is nepotism on the 6th lol)

YOU GET ME i love the 6th house so so much the way the house functions both as a united family w their genetics & a university with the academic quibbling is so fun to me- the sixths weakness was described as "A sprawling organization of erratic loners, the Sixth are chaotic by nature and terrible at collective action." which is 1) hilarious. palamedes is the peoples marxist princess 2) just generally fascinating as a whole. if we take that at face value and consider the 6th house as populated by genius loner nerds, it actually makes sense that they prioritize sending out attractive people to diversify the gene pool - with reference to your statement: dr sex provided a nice handful of evidence that while palamedes and juno have a formal dynamic, theyre affectionate enough that they seem close (at most, to the extent of some gay kid and their favorite english teacher) but seeing juno like a distant mentor is most likely right

taking on more quotes from dr sex, i think its most likely that the Sixth house encourages child bearing / raising through subsidies and an extended work leave of sorts:

Palamedes said, “Enjoying parenting. Enjoying the parenting buyout, I should say. He’s only doing dissertation supervision—and half a year of Immediate History, of course—but he’s got his own projects on the go.”

alexandrites and nireids might be required to go offworld to flirt and have children (i think i came across another post floating somewhere noticing kiki and cam were half-sisters, implying their parent was one of the mentioned) but for residents staying in the sixth house, they probably have about 3-7 other people they could possibly produce children with outside of consanguinity. although forcing them to have children by way of vat birth etc etc is entirely possible in Hell Empire a lot of them probably gave in just for a few years of parental & academic benefits.

one last point - sixth house children canonically live in a dormitory! so if you consider a professor going on paid leave to raise children while doing their own projects for about 7-9 years, then going back to work while their children are sent to a dorm to do nothing but study and train with other peers their age, it falls together so perfectly bro. it makes so much sense. of course pal and cam are nice to their parents but rarely ever close - they were most likely raised and taught communally! god i love worldbuilding

[sysmedsaresexist]

As someone who remembers how vile syscourse was just a few years ago, when I heard this blog experienced character devrlopment, I was shocked at first. When I found some posts explaining it, I was even more intrigued.

If anyone is open to it, I wouldn't mind a link to any explanation of how you fell into sysmedicalism and how you started unlearning it. I'm genuinely proud of you for that development, because changing your entire outlook on a topic is difficult, especially when you have people who support that old view but not the new one behind you. This isn't meant to be condescending, in case it is read that way.

Syscourse has only gotten more vile, honestly.

This ask kind of comes at an interesting time. Last night, I made a post about the TPA and my extreme hatred for them (that'll never change), but I linked a post from my second Twitter account, which brought me WAY back to my first active move in syscourse.

First off, hi, it's not condescending. I found it's a lot easier to talk about than I thought it would be. It doesn't hurt as much as I thought to say, "I was wrong and being hard-headed." I was expecting ego death, but instead, everyone has been so kind.

I was asked what made me switch sides, but as for my humble beginning...

I spent a good couple years just lurking and watching. I was out in therapy and quietly taking all these questions to my therapist. "Are endos real? Is DID really trauma based? Could I be endo? Is that what you become when you heal from DID?"

Suffice to say, not the healthiest questions. There was a lot of misinformation out there. Through talking to my therapist, I believed I was in the right, and I debated for a long time getting involved to talk about some of the more prominent myths about DID.

But then.

Then.

I met Bethany.

Well, I didn't meet her. She blocked me immediately. She was a social worker, and a pro endo, DID system, but I really didn't like the way she talked down to CDD systems.

She was actually huge on Twitter, she had her own website and everything for sex positive therapy, she was doing interviews, she made wild claims about what kind of work she had done in the field, sob stories about clients that didn't make it. She had just started something called the Dissociative Society of Canada.

She was BIG.

And she was a liar.

I'm actually genuinely curious if anyone remembers this, it was seriously a huge, DESTRUCTIVE event to hit BOTH communities.

The Dissociative Society of Canada was real. She started it. But she was not a social worker. Her stories weren't real.

Having done all the same schooling myself, in the same province, with the same rules, I knew she was lying, and I called her out for it.

The pro endo AND CDD community attacked me HARD. I was told I was harassing and stalking, I remember reading the post that called for people to mass report me and I remember the emails starting to flood in from Twitter from countries that required the email be sent for reports. The only posts I had made on Twitter had been about Bethany, but people were talking about who I must be as a person and why I was so angry and jaded and terrible.

Eventually, Bethany admitted it. She never publicly apologized. She made her board of directors do it for her in a letter about shutting down the society (they hadn't known either). I was able to get her listed as an unlicensed therapist to avoid (she's still on there). The Dissociative Society of Canada was shut down after only a year.

And I felt terrible. I hated myself. The posts that came out afterwards about how much people had loved Bethany and how their trust had been destroyed, people that had done therapy with her and were permanently damaged by the lie. She had given a lot of people hope, but it was all a lie.

That was my fault. If I hadn't said anything, I don't think she would have been caught. She was still in school to get her education, she wanted to become licensed, she just wasn't yet.

But it was illegal for her to be providing therapy and telling everyone she was a social worker. She used this title to shut down anyone who disagreed with her, even when she was clearly wrong.

It was a clusterfuck. I came out of it DESPISING endogenic systems for the harassment and misinformation, and the lies about ME. I hated the desire to ignore her unlicensed, illegal actions simply because she had been a prominent voice for the pro endo community (seriously, people wished I hadn't done it, that she had never been called out and had continued her work).

This was my first real interaction with the pro endo community. A lying POS and a bunch of endos lying about me.

I started JAS around that time, and we all know what happened from there. My first post was about the myth of the 10% non-traumagenic in the DSM (it's a misquote).

I don't want to say I wanted to replace Bethany-- I wanted to show how someone who wasn't licensed could still advocate without lies, I wanted to provide that same level of educated discussion, I actually heavily considered putting together a licensed team to start another dissociative society. I debated getting licensed to do it myself.

Unfortunately, life doesn't always work out that way.

I did get her Twitter url out of it when she deleted, though. My trophy.

Ending on a sad note, I suppose.

I was distrusting of the endo community, I was angry. I didn't trust anyone for a long time after this. Who would just go online and lie like that?

It took a really long time to get over it and let go of that anger and hurt.

Remember, don't trust anyone or anything on the internet. Fact check everyone and everything, even if you think you already know the answer, or think you know who someone is.

If she hadn't been such an actual bitch to people, I wouldn't have noticed. Seriously. This was the tweet that caught her, no therapist should talk like this to anyone. The concerns raised in the first image mirrored my own exactly, and I would not have appreciated being spoken to that way. I thought, if she IS licensed, she should be reprimanded. But I couldn't find her license, and thus began the downfall of Bethany Killen.

TL;dr if you're lying on the internet, be nice to people :)

While I didn't always live up to my own standards of civility (I can admit that), I TRIED to speak to endogenic systems as respectfully as possible, and my only goal was to NOT be like Bethany. Sometimes I failed, but at least I never claimed to be licensed.

The point is that I'm trying to be better every day. Finally admitting that I was pro endo made it a lot easier to be nice. I wasn't trying to hold up this charade anymore.

And finally, I want to remind everyone that it's not just "the other side" that can do damage or spread misinformation. Our own community can do damage if we don't call each other out, too.

The most damaging thing I've ever seen in syscourse came from another CDD system.

I think I've rambled enough, thank you!

[vodika-vibes]

Hi! So I’ve been reading your stuff for a while now. If you have time & are willing would you think about writing up a reader x Neyo piece with the reader walking eggshells around him because she’s always feeling intimidated by him and he wants to change that? Thank you!

What A Change

Summary: You're a member of Doctors Without Borders, brought into the war at the request of the Jedi Order. And you've been assigned to the 91st for months now. And you're starting to realize that there are undercurrents to your placement on the ship that you never noticed before.

Pairing: Pre Commander Neyo x Reader

Word Count: 1557

Warnings: Mentions of stalking, though the reader's largely unaware of it until the end

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So I'm not sure I hit the vibe for the story, but it didn't feel right for the reader to be so nervous around Neyo and then to jump into a relationship. So this one might have a sequel.

“It’s…um…required, Commander.” You say quietly as you nervously fumble with your datapad, “Republic policy is very clear as to the requirements for any person or group of persons who wish to land on this specific planet.”

Commander Neyo is glaring at you. You know it without looking at him. You can feel the way his glare is burning into your skin. 

“And how long will it take to vaccinate the entire battalion?” He asks, his voice rough.

You flinch at his words, “Um…a couple of hours, maybe?”

Nayo exhales sharply and your grip tightens around your datapad, “Fine. I’ll let the men know. Is there anything else?”

You hesitate, “Um…just that…even after everyone is vaccinated, it’ll take two days before you’ll be allow to land-”

“And why wasn’t this known beforehand?” Neyo snaps at you, and you flinch back, and he exhales slowly, “We’ve known that we were coming here for days, why am I only just hearing about these requirements?”

“I…I told the Admiral-” You trail off.

“Fine.” He pauses, “I’m not going to hit you Doc, you don’t have to flinch whenever I enter the room.”

“I…sorry-” You mumble, and then you hear the sound of him leaving and you slump against your table with a sigh. 

Several months ago, when the war started, the Jedi Order reached out to Doctors Without Borders to get doctors who would be willing to work on warships and with the clone Medics.

You are one such Doctor. After days of background checks, as well as tests to ensure that you’re actually able to work with the clones, you found yourself attached to the 91st.

At first you were pleased.

Being attached to a Recon Battalion meant that you would have plenty of time to look into the increased aging of the clones while ensuring the health and wellbeing of the men and women on the ship as well.

And then you met Commander Neyo.

Cold, distant, and grumpy Commander Neyo. Who seemed offended at your very presence. You walked on eggshells around him, and even then you never seem to do anything right in his eyes.

He’s always picking and poking and prodding until you make a mistake. And then he gives that heavy sigh, like you’re nothing more than a burden on him and his brothers, and then asks you how you intend to fix the problem.

You always can. None of the mistakes that he’s caught, or the ones that you’ve admitted to, have caused harm to anyone on the ship. But he acts like it’s the end of the world.

You thought you were doing the right thing, informing the Admiral about the vaccine requirements for the planet. It’s not your fault that the Admiral ignored your information until you were already in orbit. Right?

Several hours later, you're called into a meeting with General Gallia, Commander Neyo, and the Admiral.

The Admiral, a petty, small minded man with more ego than actual sense, glares at you, and you shift uncomfortably. “Doctor, you should have warned us about the vaccine mandates of this planet.”

You feel a prickle of annoyance, and you quietly attach your datapad to the holo, and bring up the email, detailing that very fact, that you sent him several weeks earlier, “I think you’ll find that I did.”

The Admiral flushes an ugly shade of red, and you have a feeling that if General Gallia and Commander Neyo weren’t there, then he would physically try to hurt you.

Commander Neyo shifts, and you glance up at him as his arm brushes yours, “In any event, we can’t land for another two days, so what’s the play, General?”

Your gaze flickers around the room, from the Commander, who’s standing much closer to you than he normally would, to General Gallia, who has a stern look on her young face, and who is also standing slightly closer to you than normal, and then over to the Admiral, who has gone an unhealthy shade of gray.

And you realize that you must be missing something.

“There’s nothing we can do,” General Gallia says lightly, “Aside from waiting for the time to run out. Has the vaccinations started?”

“Yes ma’am,” You reply, “Everyone will be vaccinated by the end of the day.”

“Splendid.”

“Wait a minute,” The Admiral frowns at you, “How did you learn about the vaccination mandate?”

“Doctors Without Borders created the vaccine to begin with, when the plague first started.” You reply, “We were all vaccinated, just in case it spread to other planets.”

The Admiral’s eyes light up, “So you can go to the planet.”

You pause, and both the Commander and the General tense.

“I…suppose I could.” You say slowly.

“Wonderful, then you can go down first-”

“Absolutely not!”

“She’s a civilian!”

Commander Neyo and General Gallia speak in unison, but the Admiral raises a hand to silence them, “I’m hardly asking her to fight a battle. I’m asking her to go before us and report on the state of the planet.”

You shift uncomfortably, and you start in surprise when a strong hand lands on your shoulder and you’re jerked back behind Commander Neyo, he looks angrier than you’ve ever seen before in your life, and you’re glad that he’s not looking at you like that.

General Gallia looks thunderous, but when she speaks her voice is very calm, “Commander, will you please take the good Doctor and ensure she has what she needs for a trip to the planet?”

“Yes ma’am,” He guides you out of the room, and as soon as the door slides shut, you’re pretty sure you can hear raised voices on the other side of the door.

“Um…”

“We need to get you armor. It’ll have your organization's symbol on it, don’t worry.” His dark eyes scan you, “Do you know how to use a blaster?”

“What? No! Of course not! I mean, I know the theory? I just point and click, right?”

“That’s…not it at all, no.” Neyo replies, he lightly spins you and directs you towards the opposite side of the ship from your lab.

“I’m a doctor. Before all else, do not harm. I don’t need to know how to shoot. Even planets not connected to the Republic don’t fire on Doctors from Doctors without Borders.” You say, “Besides, this planet is peaceful.”

“They were peaceful. They’re not so much anymore.” Neyo takes you down to the armory, and starts looking for armor that might fit you.

You shift, uncomfortable, but somehow not intimidated by his silence, “Commander, what’s going on? It seemed like there was more going on in that room than I was privy to.”

He pauses, “Right. So, long story short, you were assigned to this Battalion at the Admiral’s request. General Gallia did some digging and he’s been a bit…obsessed with you since the start of your career.” He looks at a chest piece he’s holding and then eyes you, before he curses and tosses it to the side, “Apparently the real you isn’t anything like the you he created in his mind, and the General is concerned he might try and harm you.”

“What?” You squeak.

“The General asked me to stick close to you whenever the Admiral is around. He’s afraid of me.” Neyo pauses, and something wry crosses his face, “Of course, you’re also afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid.” You defend yourself immediately, “You just…intimidate me.” 

“Same difference.” He digs around for a moment longer, and something sour crosses his face, “We don’t have anything that will fit you.”

You shift slightly, “I…have armor.” You admit.

“You…what?”

“It’s in my foot locker. We regularly get sent out to war zones, so-” You shrug, “I still don’t know how to shoot a gun, it was never something I needed to know.”

He exhales sharply through his teeth, “I can’t teach you how to shoot a gun well in the time we have. So here are my orders for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Find someplace safe. A clinic or something. And in two days, I will come and find you.” Neyo says to you.

And the way he says it, you can’t help but to believe him.

“...I thought you hated me.” You admit quietly, “You were always there and always picking and prodding-”

“Whatever feelings I have regarding you, it’s not hate.” His lips curl up into a small smile, “I’m actually impressed by you. I know you’ve been looking into the aging issue whenever you can-”

“It’s why the Jedi called us. Because we care. People don’t join Doctors Without Borders unless they care a whole awful lot about everyone.” You explain with a shrug.

He nods slowly, “I’m beginning to realize that.” Neyo says nothing for a moment, and then he walks over to you and places his hand on your head, “I will come for you. In two days, as soon as I’m able to land on the planet.”

“Okay.”

His hand slides from the top of your head to the back of your neck, “And when we’re back on the ship, we can talk about feelings and shit.” He says with a disgusted scrunch of his nose, “But more importantly than all of that, I don’t want you to be afraid of me anymore.”

“I can try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

[thedreadvampy]

hahaha sweet vindication I went to a fuckin. uh so we have an inclusion and diversity working group at work and a subgroup of that which meets separately for LGBT+ inclusion. which is the fun one. the party group.

anyway got onto the teams call and both the other people in the room were already talking about how fucked up the last Inclusion and Diversity meeting was. you know the one where I suggested we might be a bit overwhelmingly white at 98% White People On Staff and maybe we should do something about it and the senior director pitched a defensive fit and started talking about how it's "never been a priority" in the fully white room of people driving the diversity agenda and how it's FINE because we sometimes work with BAME client groups and maybe people of colour just don't WANT to work here for NO PARTICULAR REASON? that meeting?

very nice to hear that everyone except the two people getting defensive left that meeting going WHAT THE FUCK and immediately went to talk to their colleagues about the whiteness problem in this workplace.

so the HR team are now talking among themselves about how to emphasise that it does need to be a priority, two Asian members of staff have sent emails to the I&D group diplomatically saying "hey here's why the overwhelming whiteness is a deeply affecting problem for me and makes me feel unsafe at work", and in the LGBT group we are discussing how to use the budget we already have allocated for improving LGBT+ inclusivity to Trojan horse in some data gathering that will demonstrate that no actually the problem is not "mysterious whiteness" there's an addressable systemic issue

so once again "being too angry to let it go" is playing out positively. my friends. start shit when people talk shit, is my policy 😘 saying 'hey that seems fucked up' in a meeting where nobody else is saying it has almost always, in my experience, had the effect of other people going YEAH ACTUALLY IT IS FUCKED UP I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY PERSON THINKING THAT WE SHOULD DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT

cause managers love to make you feel like you're being ridiculous and Just Don't Understand and if you speak up everyone will laugh at you. but you understand fine! and if you ask a polite question, either someone will have an obvious answer to give you and you can move on, or, more often, they won't have a good answer and other people will be like 'hey yeah that's a shit answer! why did we accept that as obvious?'

in my entire professional life this 'if you feel uncomfortable with something, question it out loud' approach has gone wrong like. a single figure number of times. and right almost every time. is all I'm saying. not cause I'm usually right but cause it requires people to think about what they're saying.

[illiterateaffairs]

behind the scenes chapter three | friends with professional benefits

masterlist | prev | next

pairing: jamie tartt x actress!reader (ted lasso)

rating: T

word count: 3,410

summary: you and jamie get to know each other. let the games begin.

a/n: this is coming out later than i had planned but i hope it was worth the wait! going to be less busy this coming weekend so hope to share more soon and get a lot of chapters in the queue for you all <3

Five days. It had been five days since you and Jamie agreed on your plan to fake date in front of the entire world. And although you didn’t regret the idea - yet - you’d still had enough time to overthink and suddenly become very nervous about things going wrong. 

You hadn’t seen Jamie since your conversation in the café, but you had various text exchanges throughout the week. At some point Jamie had asked you what your contact name was for him.

what do you mean? it's your name. jamie.

just jamie?

what else would it be?

you’ve gotta add emojis luv if someone sees your phone it's gotta look like i’m ur boyfriend. mine says ur name with like 5 hearts

That’s when you realized you needed to be more thorough than you thought. 

Which is precisely why Jamie was coming over to your flat today. Sure you’d known you needed to get together sooner or later to talk through the plan as a whole, but today you were armed with a checklist of things to cover. 

You’d also talked things over with Margot earlier in the week. And Harry. But that conversation had been a lot more cut and dry. He was over the moon you were doing this, and sent you an email with own list of requirements. It basically started and ended with: be a couple in PUBLIC. 

With Margot, she’d repeatedly asked if you were sure about the whole thing. You’d told her over and over again that, yes, you had never been more sure of anything in your life. Though by the fourth reassurance, you weren’t sure how convincing you sounded. 

Either way, you were committed to this and dammit if you weren’t going to see this through. This was just another role you had to play. It’s what you did best.

From your spot on your coach, you nearly fall off of it when there’s a knock on your door. 

Jamie.

Its go time. 

You put your laptop down on the coffee table and jog over to the front door. Pulling it open, you’re actually surprised to see Jamie standing on your doorstep holding a bouquet of flowers. 

You squint, “Are those for me?”

Jamie scoffs, “No, they’re for your elderly neighbor I just passed. I’m hoping you can introduce me.” You roll your eyes but give him a smile, “Of course they’re for you. We have to make this look convincing right?”

“Jamie, there’s nobody else here.”

“Okay, but what about paparazzi? One could be lurking about and catching me visiting your flat would be the perfect kickstart to this whole thing.”

You chuckle, “I doubt there’s any photographers around here.” Still you look around behind him, and after seeing no one, you pull him into your apartment and shut the door.

“Still, you know Google Earth. Always taking pics,” Jamie jokes, laughing to himself as he steps further into your living room.

You stop in your place before you follow him, “Did you just quote Parks and Rec?”

Jamie spins around, “You understood that reference?” 

You laugh in disbelief, “Of course. It's one of my favorite shows.”

“Same,” he smiles, “Used to watch it with my Mum all the time in high school.”

“I love that,” you smile back, closing the gap between the two of you so you can take the flowers from his hands, “These are pretty by the way. Let me go put them in a vase but feel free to make yourself at home.”

You’re quick to fill up a vase in your kitchen, leaving the flowers on the counter, but are surprised to return to Jamie still standing in the middle of your living room, looking around.

“This place doesn’t seem very you,” he comments as you return, plopping down on the couch.

“How would you know? You just met me,” you ask teasingly.

“Well, that’s the point of today isn’t it,” Jamie teases back, joining you on the couch, “Still, it seems very posh and you seem a lot more chill.”

You nod, “Well, I’m just renting this place while I’m here so not much of it is mine. I’m thinking about decorating it a bit to make it more homey.”

“Well if you need any recommendations for places to look, I know some stores that have cool shit.”

“I may have to take you up on that.”

You lean forward and grab your laptop again. You glance over the excel sheet you had open and try to figure out where to start.

“What you lookin’ at over there?” Jamie asks curiously, trying to peak over.

“I want a way to keep track of all the things we need to figure out like our cover story and just things we need to know about each other,” You explain, turning your computer towards him.

His eyes widen at the very detailed and colored coded document you had laid out. “Wow, that’s…intense.”

You chuckle, “Yeah, I may be a creative but I am very Type A. I also don’t want to fuck this up so I think it would nice to have a place to keep track of everything. I can email this to you if you want? Or ooh! I can upload it to Google Drive so we can both edit it.”

Jamie shakes his head, but there’s a small smile on his face, “Sure. Where should we start, Boss?”

“Well, I feel like the most obvious thing we need to cover is how did we meet? How did we get together?”

Jamie’s thoughtful for a second before shrugging, “I feel like we could use how we actually met, you know? It’s realistic because it's actually real. And keeps it simple. We ran into each other and got coffee, or hot chocolate, as some may prefer.”

“Nice, you remember my preferred beverage,” you smile as you start typing in the doc, “Who asked who out? Did we do it that day?”

“You asked to exchange numbers, but I reached out a couple days later. Maybe we went on our first date last weekend?”

You nod thoughtfully, “That works.”

“It would’ve had to have been Friday, though,” he adds, “I had a match Saturday afternoon and told Keeley about seeing someone that night.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I filmed late on Friday night.”

Jamie shrugs, “I could’ve waited up for you. Got drinks at a bar?”

Your lips quirk up at the thoughtfulness - even though it was made up.

“Okay,” you continue filling out your spreadsheet, “I have a list of things that one might normally know about a significant other, but since our “relationship” is so new, I think we only need to cover what you would on a first date.”

Jamie’s eyebrows furrow, “Like…what?”

You glance up at him, “What? Jamie Tartt’s never been on a date before?”

He laughs awkwardly, “I’ve obviously been on dates. But we didn’t really do a lot of talking.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh lovely. Alrighty, then, let's just focus on what normal people do the first time they’re getting to know someone.”

“Fine,” Jamie sighs, “Hit me.”

“What’s your…favorite color?”

“Seriously?”

“What?” you laugh, “It's a completely normal question.”

“Yeah, for five year-olds,” he frowns, crossing his arms.

“Come on, you’re seriously going to sit here and tell me you don’t have a favorite color?”

“I dunno,” he shakes his head looking around, “Maybe, blue?”

“Blue? Come on, that’s such a boy answer,” you mock.

“Well, I am a boy if you haven’t noticed,” Jamie throws back defensively, “Its my favorite color your asking, is it not?”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, amused by how seriously he’s taking this, “It is. Why blue then?”

He shrugs, “Dunno. It’s one of Richmond’s colors. Was a Man City color, which is the team I used to play for and my hometown team. I remember my mum wearing it a lot growing up.”

A genuine smile starts to form on your face as you listen to him ramble. It was the second time he’d brought up his mom. “Are you and your mom really close?”

He turns to you, a little taken back, “You ask about parents on a first date?”

You shrug one shoulder, “If it's going well.”

Jamie has to turn back away from you so he doesn’t do something stupid like blush. He decides to focus on answering your question. “We are. She’s sort of like...my rock, I guess? She’s actually the one who got me into football.”

You nod, listening intently, “And your dad?”

You notice Jamie tense slightly, but he turns back to you with a half smile, “Our relationship’s a bit complicated. Maybe that’s more of a story for a fifth date or something.”

You give him a kind smile, “That’s fair.” And then you turn back to your laptop screen.

“What about you?” Jamie asks after a beat.

You look up with raised eyebrows, “Me? My favorite color is yellow.”

Jamie chuckles, “Noted. But no, I meant, what's your relationship with your parents like?”

“Oh!” you chuckle lightly with him, “My mom is the best. Feels like she might get along with yours; she’s the reason I’m an actor.” Jamie’s smile grows, “She did literally everything in the world to support me even though she was a single mother. I never knew my dad though. He left my mom before I was born so he’s never been around.”

“Oh, that sucks, I’m sorry,” Jamie says softly.

“It’s fine. I don’t know him. And from the brief things my mom has said, its probably for the best. And honestly it's okay. Mom’s been more than enough on her own.”

Jamie nods, the smile back on his face. “Okay, anything else you got on that list besides colors and parents?”

“Oh, I have plenty,” you chuckle, “But feel free to ask me anything of your own?”

“Hmm,” Jamie thinks for a second, “What's your favorite flower?”

You look up, amused, “My favorite flower?”

“Yeah. You know that way I can be more specific next time I get you some,”

You once again have to bite back a smile, “Uh, I would say daisies are my favorite flower.” Jamie nods, committing the information to memory, “What about you?”

“Me?” you nod and Jamie doesn’t even hesitate, “I think lilies are nice.”

“Lillies are nice,” you agree, typing it into the doc.

That’s how you spend the next hour or so, asking one another trivia about each other and inputting it into the doc for ease of studying later. You learn about each others childhood pets and the careers you wanted when you were five. You learn each other's favorite foods, stores, bands, as well as the little things you hated. You learned more about his teammates, particularly those closest to him like Sam, Isaac, Colin and Dani. In turn you told him about how Margot was more like a sister to you even if she was technically your employee, as well as your childhood next door neighbor Katie who was still your best friend today.

You only realize you’d been talking for so long when your stomach lets out a growl, and Jamie doesn’t even pretend to courteously not hear it when he lets out a belly laugh. 

“Leave me alone, it actually is almost dinner time, dude,” you defend, even though you find yourself laughing along with him.

“Fair point,” he amends when he catches his breath, “Do you want to order in?”

You don’t even protest the idea of prolonging your time together, thoroughly enjoying getting to know him, “Sure. I can order a pizza.”

You start searching local pizza places into Google, when you remember another item of business you had on your list. 

“Ooh, that packet on the coffee table is for you.” you nod in the direction of said stack of papers.

Jamie sits up, intrigued by the mysterious document, and picks it up. He squints at the weird legalese, “Is this…a contract?” You nod, “What, you don’t trust me or something?”

“No, it's not that, it's just standard,” you shrug, “It's more or less just to appease my publicist and the like.” Jamie still looks unsure, so you sit up and start flipping pages of the document for him, “Looks, its no big deal. I already signed it myself. It just states we can’t tell anyone about this. Besides, the NDA expires in 5 years anyway. So by that time, I’ll have an Oscar and you’ll be a washed up football player, and no one will believe you if you said anything.”

Jamie huffs, “I want to be offended by that, but you called it football so I’ll accept it.”

You smirk, “See, I’m a fast learner.” Then you settle back into your spot on the couch and carry on ordering pizza. 

Jamie looks over the packet again, before siding it was no use tonight, “You mind if I look this over and get it back to you in a few days?”

You nod, “Of course.”

“And your publicist knows? I mean obviously. And assuming Margot knows? Have you told anyone else?” he asks.

“Nope, that’s all,” You answer, “I get it if you want someone to confide in, but I figure the tighter we keep the circle, the better, right?” Jamie nods, “I mean have you told your publicist or professional team?”

Jamie laughs humorlessly, “My publicist is my ex, Keeley.”

You once again look up at him with your mouth agape, “Nooo, how does that happen?”

Jamie shakes his head, “Not intentionally. She took over the club’s PR before I came back to the team and I guess I never thought to find someone else. We became friends, genuine friends, but then everything got tangled up again a few months ago. And yeah. Here we are.”

You look at him for a few seconds before you let out a deep breath, “Well, that all sounds fun. A real incestuous family you got going on over there at AFC Richmond huh?”

Jamie can’t help but laugh along with you, “Yeah, look what you’re marrying into.”

You chuckle, but weirdly you feel your stomach flip at his phrasing. You brush right past it in order to collect his pizza preferences. As you finalize submitting the order, Jamie starts over analyzing your apartment again. This time he’s a bit more nosy and pulls open some of the coffee table drawers. He gasps when he pulls open the second one.

“No way. Please tell me this is yours and it didn’t just come with the place.”

When you look up, he’s holding up a Mario Kart game cover. 

You scoff, “Of course that’s mine.” 

“I haven’t played this in ages,” Jamie says, studying the back cover. 

Another smile plays at your lips. You nod at the TV in front of you, “I can hook up my Switch if you want. It’s been a while since I’ve played with someone other than myself.”

Jamie looks up at you, an excited grin forming on his face. “You’re fucking on.”

And so you spend the next hour competing against Jamie in various Mario Kart races. You play as Toad, naturally. Jamie plays as Princess Peach which makes you laugh. In between rounds, you munch on pizza and breadsticks. You also manage to get to know each other more, and set up ground rules for your charade even as you trash talk one another.

“I feel like the most important is PDA,” you state, somehow managing to focus on not falling off rainbow road while also talking strategy.

“Well, we’ve obviously got to do some of it,” Jamie comments, cursing as he gets hit with a shell, “It would look weird if we didn’t sometimes.”

“Sure, but we’ve gotta have some boundaries. We can’t just be kissing each other willy-nilly.”

Jamie chuckles, “Well, yeah, consent is key.”

Your lips quirk, “I’m completely fine with small things like hugs and hand holding whenever it seems fit.”

“Okay, cool, yeah,” Jamie nods, “And if you’re fine with it, kisses on the cheek are pretty innocent.”

“Yeah,” you nod, swerving to avoid a banana, “But actual kissing…”

Neither of you know how to finish that sentence. However, your race comes to an end. This time you get away with first place, Jamie in second, which you’d be switching between throughout the evening. Without gameplay to distract you, you have to make a decision.

“Maybe we just take it as it comes?” you suggest slowly, “I mean, couples kiss right? So if it feels right in the moment, it's not a big deal for a peck here and there?”

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, “And if there’s ever a time we need to make a show of it, we check in with each other. Either beforehand, or if its in the moment, we give each other a signal.”

“A signal?”

“Yeah, like we blink twice or something.”

You nod, “Blink twice. Okay. And if we’re ever uncomfortable with something, we just have to communicate with each other, right?”

“Right.” Jamie nods. After a beat, he extends his hand, “Looks like we’re doing this.”

You chuckle, but shake his hand none the less, “We’re doing this.”

You exchange smiles. Now that the sun has gone down, Jamie decides its probably time to head out for the night, feeling like you’d accomplished a lot over the course of the evening.

As you walk him to your door, you ask one last question, “There was actually one more thing I wanted to ask. If you’re free Thursday night, do you want to come to an event with me? Isabel Mercer’s new movie is premiering, and since she’s dating my costar the whole cast is going. Figure it might be a good place to make a public debut?”

Jamie smirks, “A movie premiere? You should have started with that.”

You snort, “Yeah, well, I had to make sure this mock-date went well first.”

“I’d say it went very well, wouldn’t you?” Jamie smiles, “I think we’ve got this shit in the bag.”

You laugh, “So I guess that means you’re in?”

Jamie does a half bow, “I would be honored.”  

“Good, because I hate going to these things. I need someone to suffer through it with me.”

Jamie fake-pouts, “Don’t try to make this sound less fun for me.”

You shake your head, and you make your voice really high as you reply, “Don’t worry, it’ll be great!”

Jamie tsks, “You’re gonna have to be better than that when we’re trying to convince the whole world we’re madly in love.”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here,” You tease, opening your front door and gently shoving him towards it.

Jamie turns to you with a smile, “Good night, girlfriend.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and give him a smile of your own, “Good night, boyfriend.”

Before you can process what he’s doing, he’s leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. Before he completely pulls away, he whispers in your ear, “Google Earth.” He gives you once last smirk before jogging down the steps. 

You shake your head as you lock up. This was certainly going to be an experience these next three months. 

You flop back down on your couch to review your notes from the evening. After reading through for a few minutes, you remember you hadn’t checked your phone the entire time he was there. Aside from a couple emails and a text from your mom, you didn’t have much since it was a Saturday. However, you also have 2 texts from Margot. The first you had missed from earlier this afternoon, which was a link to tweet from an updates account about you. The tweet contained pictures of Jamie arriving at your flat earlier that day. The second had been sent minutes ago, including a tweet from the same account, this time with pictures of Jamie leaving literally ten minutes ago.

The devil works hard, but paparazzi and stans work harder.

You also realize that Jamie had been right. That smug bastard.

You couldn’t be too annoyed though. The comments under the tweets, even the most recent, were filled with people surprised yet supportive of your coupling. A few even conceding that you did look cute in a relationship. You smile to yourself as you scroll through.

Shit. This was going to work. 

a/n: can’t wait to hear what you guys think!!! :))))))

taglist: @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog​ @royalestrellas​ @loveslide​ @torpedo-belly​ @skewedcherries​ @littlemisssunshine192​ @hopefulromances​ @breakmyheartlater​ @ohpuckyeah​ @alipap3​ @meg-ro​ @rexorangecouny​ @pythagothug​ @bonesbonesetc​ @xxenia14​ @rockchickrebel​ @thatonedogwithablog​ @percysaidnever​ @msjb2002​ @loveforaugust​ @dicgohargreeves​ @whimsical-roasting​ @gcidrvsh @lightninginab0ttle it wouldn’t let me tag the last couple of you, but i will keep trying <3

[bleachbleachbleach]

For one of the fanfic memes :D :

2.How do you react to positive comments?

4. Post a screenshot of one of your favorite comments

15. What fic of yours would you most like to rewrite?

33. Which of your fic titles is your favorite?

Aahhh, thank you for these!! I didn't actually reblog this meme (just the responses someone gave me when I sent in an ask for theirs), but I will *happily* take the opportunity to play, anyway, any time! <333

2. How do you react to positive comments?

I do this for any comment or kudos/like I get, but: I’ll click through on the person’s username and look at their page and their fics (if applicable—usually it isn’t), profile, bookmarks, etc. to try to learn more about who they are (and perhaps find things for me to read, too).

I re-read the comment multiple times over the course of multiple days, maybe even a dozen times, depending on how much there is to take in, by which point I probably have portions of it memorized.

I reply to comments to say thank you and to revel in the opportunity to have a small blorbo and/or craft conversation with the person, because that’s what I wish fandom were like alllllll the time, but it’s actually mostly not. So I try to do as much as I can with the moment!

4. Post a screenshot of one of your favorite comments I’ll forego any comments I’ve received from anyone on Tumblr who might see this post, though I treasure them and love them dearly. <333 But a comment that’s stuck in mind wasn’t even a comment someone gave to me or wrote directed at me, or ever wrote a me-directed version of.

There used to be a fandom convention of having large anonymous forums where people would talk fandom together anonymously, including fanworks. (I guess the modern-day equivalent here is private Discord servers, which are even more inaccessible, rip.) These threads could be pretty brutal, because they were anonymous people addressing other anonymous people and not thinking about the author at all—but they could also be the most interesting, because it was clear people involved in the discussion were actively reading and interpreting and critiquing. They were really giving your work their time.

My thread for this particular fic was 50/50 in terms of positive/negative reactions, but this comment was the first one in the thread that was positive, and it’s stayed with me for over a decade now:

15. What fic of yours would you most like to rewrite? Having waded back through that comment thread, jesus, that one, I guess! But not really. I’d just write another fic (and have, in fact, gone one to write 13 more years of fics for those characters—when I wrote that one, I was a year or two into writing fics for them).

I feel like fics belong to their specific time and place, and end up being imbued so closely with whatever flavor my life is at the time and whatever experiential details of my life are staying with me that to rewrite would be a different fic, anyway. I remember those highways and those watermelon cookies and moving in the middle of writing this fic and sitting in a towering forest of cardboard boxes eating cereal straight out of the box because that’s the only food that was unpacked.

33. Which of your fic titles is your favorite? Fic titles are interesting, because they’re a piece of the fic that rarely has any use? I can’t refer to a fic by title and expect most people to know what I’m talking about, because that would require a general audience to have familiarity with my writing, or to have read it. So I usually just describe the fic rather than use its name, if occasion comes up to talk about it. So a fic title is at its most functional for me in the AO3 kudos email, where the litmus test is “do I know which fic this kudos is for, based on its title.” The answer is generally yes, even though I have a fic titled "Instructions" AND a fic titled "Instruction," and a fic titled "Gone Fishing" AND a fic titled "Gone Fishin’"… (In my defense... different randoms/different pseudonyms!!)

Even though I do it a lot I don’t really like it when I use titles of already-existing media, or song lyrics, or single-word titles, though often the referentiality is the point and why I liked the title enough to use it. I do really like double entendre titles. Going back through all my titles on AO3, this morning I’m really liking:

Clutch, Bite — because who doesn’t love VERBS, especially such visceral ones. But it’s the title of a fic about violent grief and also learning how to drive stick shift, so I love the additional reference to a clutch’s “bite point.”

Set and March — I’ve talked about this title before, but I like it because the fic is a tag to an episode titled “Game Night” and I think the title-play is clever, haha.

This is a ghost story / This is not a ghost story — These titles were just funny to me because they were two fairly unrelated fics I posted on the same day and they were both ghost stories.

That Were — which is a line from already-existing media, but it’s such a deep cut of a line I feel like it loops back around to original. I just like the the weird tense play and the fact that there’s no actual noun to be seen. (The full line is “the pearls that were his eyes” from T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, lol.)

[cantolopejeevas]

New hyper-fixation, new OC, lol. This one is for Hi-Fi Rush! Their name is Honey, the left render is them while working for Vandelay, and the right is after they join Chai and the team! They're sweet, very trusting, and love living life to the fullest! But they also have a hard time focusing on reality and can come off as more than a little invasive because they watch people. Constantly. Even when they really shouldn't. They have a passion for all kinds of performing arts, but their main talents lie in dance (particularly ballet) and writing music!

Their face (including eyes and voice) are Vandelay Technologies prosthetics, and their robotic attachments can encase them and allow them to duplicate the appearance of anyone they've seen. Combined with a little bit of AI technology, they can even copy mannerisms and become very hard to discern from the original.

Backstory/infodump under cut! There will be spoilers! And it'll probably be long, lol.

So! Honey used to be really close with Kale before he took over the company. They gladly called him their best friend and were a little blind to some of his faults, chalking it up to him simply being an 'ends justify the means' kind of guy.

Kale, however, saw a little more in the relationship than was actually there, and harbored a little bit of an obsessive infatuation for them. After developing SPECTRA, he approached them with his plan to take over Vandelay Technologies and propositioned them with not only a lucrative position working for him, but the role of his beloved. He fully expected them to hop on board without question.

Honey did not. They asked if he was seriously going to mind-control his own mother, why he had to do it this way, what was even the point of vying for this so hard? Also?? They didn't think of him like that! And as his friend, they had to tell him that not only was this idea ridiculous, but absolutely awful!

Essentially, it turned into a huge blow-up. Things ended on horrible terms and, shortly afterward, Honey got into a near-fatal "accident". Kale, however, was coincidentally nearby, and managed to save them. And he even was so kind as to gift them state-of-the-art technology to replace all that they'd lost.

Tech that just so happened to have the yet untested SPECTRA.

Now fully under Kale's control, he "helped them realize" that they did, in fact, return his feelings, and were more than happy to take the job offer on top of it.

So he continued with his plan, stealing the role of CEO and placing them as the head of the Surveillance Department, which included their own SPECTRA pass-key. It was a mostly fluff job that didn't require them to leave his side too much. But when they did, it would be to check in on the other departments, usually by disguising as another Boss, or a lowly worker if they needed to be particularly inconspicuous. They were Kale's eyes and ears, and whatever they found, they could record through their prosthetic eyes and send directly back to him.

During this time, Honey's true personality was fully suppressed. They were simply subservient, quiet, and...

Always.

Watching.

The other Bosses were aware of them and their ability to spy when needed, but didn't put too much stock in them otherwise. They never spoke unless addressed by Kale, and only reached out themself through email. By the nature of their job, they had the most correspondence with Korsica and the Security Department.

After Rekka was defeated and Chai blasted Peppermint's involvement to Kale, he was able to deduce that the next target would be the AI Labs. After having Honey replicate Rekka long enough for her to "peacefully retire" and keep the news off the company's back, Kale sent them down to R&D to keep an eye on the situation. There, they disguised themself as one of Zanzo's robot assistants and watched the entire shitshow of experiments he ran on Chai.

By the time Chai came back with Macaron, Honey had sent their footage to Kale, who immediately set out with Korsica, sparking that whole chase. When Chai was captured, Kale opted to have Honey stay with Korsica for the interrogation, as a protective means for whatever information she could get out of him.

Well, that didn't work out. Korsica left and, not knowing what else to do, Honey simply observed Chai as he escaped. He noted how weird they seemed, especially when they didn't try to stop him, but with more important things to take care of, it didn't occupy his mind too much.

Once Korsica was recruited, though, she brought it to the group's attention that there were actually seven pass-keys, and informed them about Honey's role-- or what little she knew of it. And in the time they rested up and planned to deal with Mimosa, the group got to see the ways Honey replicated the other Bosses to help maintain the sense of normalcy for the company, pretending to be all three of the defeated Bosses on video and through email.

Mimosa was defeated with Honey quietly watching all the while. When Kale shut down the campus and retreats into the tower, he gave them one task: post up where the defect would try and break in, and see if they could beat him with his own skillset. If not, he'd managed to gather enough data on the temporal displacement Peppermint developed for them to use to retreat.

So Honey waited in Production, and challenged Chai along his route to the cannon. Needing as much information as they could get, they would pull him in for "dances", assessing how he moved and learned the rhythm of the beat that he moved to. Chai, meanwhile, was both flustered and weirded out by this whole "horror-movie-but-the-monster-is-cute" type situation. After each dance, they would take on the form of one of his friends and fight, using the temporal displacement to retreat whenever necessary.

The final fight, Chai had to contend with Honey perfectly replicating his own moves, his own appearance, and his own feel of the music. They seemed to understand the beat on the same wavelength he did, making the fight difficult for him. But also, it became apparent that not only were they under the control of SPECTRA, but that this strange dance-off almost seemed to pull them out of it part of the way. The physical distance from Kale also helped and, by the end of it, he was able to somewhat break through to them.

Ultimately, he gave up that run for the cannon to take them back to the hideout and have Peppermint try and disconnect them from SPECTRA until it could be destroyed. She did so, especially after realizing that she knew Honey from their friendship with Kale-- and had presumed them dead after their accident.

Once free from SPECTRA, Honey was able to fully be themself again, though with some of their trained quirks still remaining. They learned that they'd been practically catatonic for five years and about all of the things Kale had done in that time. Somewhat disillusioned by everything, they offered to help any way that they could, becoming a staunch ally of the group. And, as an act of kindness, everyone helped them get a new outfit that wasn't chosen for them by Kale!

When Chai calls on their help, they replicate him and copy his every move, essentially doubling his damage output, lol. This makes them have the longest reload time, though, and they can't replicate his special attacks.

After Kale is defeated, Honey learns to grapple with all that had happened to them-- including still having flashbacks to how they perceived those five years under Kale-- and finds a home among this rag-tag group. And perhaps even discovers true, healthy love in the form of a certain wannabe rockstar... ;)

[ae-azile]

Progression - Chapter 20 Preview

Arm: I'm taking the day off. Sorry. Good luck with the meeting and the dinner later, because I am not attending it either. 

Once Kinn looks at the message, it forces him to do a double take at his phone screen. He can (almost) ignore the fact that Douglas is talking to Porsche. 

Almost. 

The abrupt text really isn't like Arm. He rarely takes days off, likely because he is the most knowledgeable in all aspects of their security. There was no question on who would be replacing Chan. They asked Arm as soon as he began organizing the reconstruction and clean up. Tankhun had thrown a fit, and Arm initially said no because he thought it meant being removed from Tankhun’s team. It took a lot of incentives and adjustments to get him to agree, including letting him stay on Khun’s security team and becoming the co-head of it with Pol, which admittedly made sense since Arm was now the most seasoned out of Khun's guards and Pol was the most frequently scheduled with him. But Kinn has never seen Arm argue so much prior to that, although emotions were running high. While Arm never said as much, he is sure Pete’s abrupt departure upset him. Pa faking his death and getting so many people hurt or killed probably pissed him off more. Since he respects Arm and they could NOT lose more staff, Arm got pretty much every incentive he asked for. He probably knew he had the upperhand. Kinn is relatively sure Khun strongly encouraged Arm to play his hand that way, although Khun never admitted that. When Kinn mentioned Arm suddenly being a pain about it, Khun just smirked. 

Despite all of that, Kinn eventually respected Arm more for the out-of-character stubbornness he showed. But he hasn't experienced a defiant Arm since. 

At least until now.

Kinn: This is sort of sudden, considering you left the conference room without a word. Is everything okay? 

Arm: My preference is to not lie to you about this, so no. It's not okay. I sent the email file with the security upgrade plans and presentation if you wish to present it anyway.

Kinn: We can reschedule the presentation. The guests will be here all week. 

Arm: I will let you know if I feel like I can do it without significant decisions and adjustments being made. 

What the fuck? Why is Arm being an asshole right now? Since there is no active discussion going on and people are just socializing, he takes the time to step away to call him instead. He is actually grateful that Tankhun decided Arm and Pol would keep their phones, even if it was technically special treatment. He's probably right. They are in the know about Namphueng, and Arm is the head of security and surveillance. After everything he has done, he deserves his phone. 

But Arm sends his call to voicemail.

That. Fucker. 

Kinn: This is unprofessional. Call me. 

Arm: I am getting your brother out of the compound. That is more important right now. I apologize for the lack of notice. We should be back late tonight. Pol is staying with Nam and Phoenix. If you feel reprimanding me is called for, you can do so when we get back if you are still up. Or you can do it first thing in the morning. Up to you. 

Kinn grips his phone tightly in his hand, then lets out a steadying breath. If Pa saw these messages, he would require a punishment. He may say it calmly, or even chuckle about Arm’s sudden audacity, but he would still require it. 

He would punish Arm for having his phone without prior authorization too, but Kinn has long decided to let that drop. 

The thought of punishing Arm leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He has spent a lot of time with him the last few months, and he is the one who tracked down Kim. Not only does Kinn respect him, but he has also felt like a good and very reliable friend as of late. The anxiety brought on by the thought of spending the day in close proximity to Douglas actually lessened because he knew he would have people he trusted there. Mainly Porsche, but Arm was in second place, since Arm has been a friend. That's what he thought, at least. 

So more than anything, he feels hurt. 

Kinn: I really don't want to do that. Are you upset with me about something? You are being very short with me, so if you are and want to discuss some things, we can do that tonight or tomorrow. If I did anything to piss you off, I apologize. 

Kinn: I can't think of anything recent, but please let me know if I did.

Kinn: Can you let me know what it is? 

Arm: I have no issues with you. I am sorry if I came off that way. My sudden absence has nothing to do with you, but I need some time to cool off. It's personal, but I will let you know if I am able to talk about it soon. I need to leave for the day, and I want to work on some things tonight when I get back. I will let you know if we can talk about this in the morning. Sorry again. 

Just as Kinn trying to figure out a way to get Arm to call him so he can get a slightly better idea of what's going on, he gets a text from Khun. 

Khun: Leave Arm be. Please. It's my fault he's so worked up. He's protective of me. You know that. We are going on a day trip so we can both get our minds off it.

Kinn: Off of what? 

Khun: If I say, then I am failing to get my mind off of it, aren't I? 🙄 Arm is trying his best though. He even called Pete to see if he wanted to go on the day trip with us! But Pete is already out of town with Vegas and Macau. 😒 I would be more hurt, but he said he would rather be with us. Some family drama is going on back in Sisaket. He said his grandma was fine, so it is probably his annoying and abusive estranged father getting arrested for assault or drugs. 😡😤 His grandma HATES his father, so she won't help her ex son-in-law when he gets in trouble with the law. If Vegas truly loves Pete as much as his Instagram implies, he should slaughter him for everyone’s sake. 

Kinn knows Khun is trying to distract him from the topic at hand. It's glaringly obvious, even if Khun is telling the truth and genuinely wants Vegas to kill Pete’s father. The thing is, it sort of works. Bringing up Vegas tends to distract Kinn from whatever he was talking about. It doesn't distract him in a good way, but it distracts him. 

But that frustration is quelled by the relief of seeing emojis in Khun’s text. The first one didn't have any, and that is usually a sign Khun is anxious and not doing well, as strange of a sign that is. 

Kinn: Can you please convince Arm to meet with me tomorrow morning?

Khun takes longer to answer than Kinn likes, but he does get back to him. 

Khun: We’ll see.

Whatever. 

“Is everything okay?” Porsche asks when Kinn walks in. Kinn doesn't nod, shake his head, or provide any peace of mind. He just opens his texts with Arm and hands his phone over to Porsche.

“What has gotten into him?” Porsche asks, “This isn't like him.” 

“I was hoping you could tell me. He's your friend.” 

Porsche glances at him, “He's becoming yours too. This might be a good sign, at least in some ways. He feels more comfortable being defiant with you.”

“Is defiance something he frequently displays outside of work?” 

“Not really,” Porsche says, “But he has a strong sass streak when he's feeling annoyed.” 

Kinn huffs at that, “Still shouldn't have left.” 

“Oh, come on,” Porsche says quietly, “Maybe something personal happened and he needs some time. It's not the greatest timing, but he's done so much for everyone. I doubt he would just take off without a legitimate reason. Besides, all these men are longtime allies, right? The mutual business connections are beneficial for everyone? There probably isn't a reason to prepare for a significant threat. Right?”

As Kinn looks away and chooses not to answer that, he locks eyes with Douglas. The older man is staring right back at him with a smirk on his face. 

[our-transmasculine-experience]

I haven't legally changed my name, but I have been pushing my chosen name in my university - writing it down on quizes and tests, using a personal email instead of the assigned uni email that has my dead name, introducing myself with my actual name, just to name a few.

Also my native language requires a suffix at the end of the surname to indicate feminine gender so by removing the feminine suffix, leaving it bare and making it masc./neutur, it becomes pretty clear something is up, everyone in the country will either think you were born outside the country or you are trans if there's other factors (first name change, appearance) if you lack/add the suffix later in life.

Some professors have taken it well, very well actually. Some had a harder time because the name I go by can be seen as a nickname and not a full name - and I'm too scared to go by the full masc version of my name without legally changing it first - but they either got used to it or a simple change in pronunciation of the name made them more comfortable.

And then there's the ones that either cannot comprehend what's happening or are malicious about it. The first type is a professor to whom I literally wrote "prefered name: Name" in an attendance/topic sheet she gave us for one of the projects we needed to do. Ignored. I sent an email from my non-uni assigned email. She saw and replied to it. Ignored. But not only ignored, she used my government name. Which was extremely weird. She keeps forgetting my name, so I reintroduce myself and then she keeps ignoring me and uses my government name. But I still think she isn't too malicious about it.

Unlike the latter type - the straight up transphobic ones. I've had just two professors like that so far. The first one was easy to ignore, especially because we had the majority of our classes online with her. Again, she'd ask my name, I'd reply and she'd get grumpy about it. I know it was malicious because of comments shes made about trans people and neutral language.

And then we have the second one who also can't seem to remember my name, asks, I say my name and she makes a point to say the other name. I tried the different pronunciation trick and at first she accepted that... Until she figured out who I was and again made a point to say my legal name loud and clear for everyone to hear. In addition to that, she's been giving a little too many examples to definitions and the material we are studying that have been low-key transphobic.

Tbh if there were more people attending her seminars I'd straight up ignore her until she gets my name right, but because of how few we are, I don't want to start shit. Especially because we'll only have her for this one semester.

So yeah, academics can be a lot while being trans and not having access to medical transitioning. Still, I'm extremely glad my department is lefty and open minded and the majority of the people are chill. Yes, the negative experiences can sour the mood but I like to remind myself of all the good and understanding people around.

i’m really sorry to hear that some teachers have not been accepting, but the good part is that those teachers seem to be the minority of your college experience.

remember, there are always more good people than bad people.

[esta-elavaris]

OKAY so from the seminar I attended this morning with a panel of editors, agents, and writers, these were my main takeaways:

They described interviewing an agent as being like going on a first date and discussing marriage - like, that's the level of relationship that'll happen if all goes well, they're part-editor part-lawyer part-therapist, full-advocate. You need to decide if they're for you as much as they need to decide if you're for them, it shouldn't be a thing where you're going in feeling like you have no power and you're begging them for crumbs.

They don't want writers to be nervous. Ofc they get that we will be, but they don't want you do be! They WANT us to send in our manuscripts to them, they're excited at finding new writers to work with, they're so enthusiastic and they want to share that enthusiasm with you.

Obviously different agencies have different query requirements - make sure you tailor your submission to those requirements, don't make them feel like they're just one of eighty getting the same email. They want to feel that you're enthusiastic about them in particular just as much as you want that enthusiasm from them.

Speaking of ethusiasm, that's one of the BIIIIG things they're looking for. They want that sense of enthusiasm and excitement about your story in your email, they want it to be from the heart, because not only does it give them a sense of the PERSON they're considering working with, but it's a loooong process from submission to the book being on the shelf, and with any luck they'll be working with you across your whole career. They need to see that you're as in it as they need to be to do their job well.

They actually do a LOOOOT of editorial work. Like, a lot of the time (more often than not) they will edit your manuscript with you and discuss the project at length and make suggestions (and they ARE suggestions, but you do need to have a level of maturity to take them on board and hear them out) and work on it a lot with you before they take it to publishers, to give you your best chance. One said they had a colleague who'd done this for over a decade and had only had ONE manuscript where they sent it to publishers as is.

And that brings me to the biggest takeaway I had, and the one that stood in sharpest contrast to what I see in online advice that loves to harp on like "if you make any of these ten minor mistakes, you'll instantly be rejected" and, well, basically scaremonger.

They give you soooo much leeway.

They get that you're human, they get that you'll be nervous. They showed example cover letters that contained SO many things that I'd think of as chance killers, and they were like "eh, this isn't ideal, but if I liked the manuscript I wouldn't care", y'know? The only thing that was a BIIIG "instant no" was one that had said "I've read work by your other clients and I can confidently say I'm better than all of them" and like, if you're saying that to an agent, you're an idiot (my words, not theirs!). Which is a good thing, too, because it shows how fiercely they advocate for their clients that they're not willing to entertain comments like that.

With the other mistakes on the queries, though, the consensus was constant "the manuscript matters more, if I like that I'd ignore this error." The biggie was just to pay attention to the agent's website and requirements and follow those, because it shows a level of care and attention.

And how heavily involved in the editing process they are also shows how much leeway you get with the manuscript itself. They don't need it to be perfect, they just need there to be something in there at the core of it that grabs at them, and for you to have enthusiasm and a willingness to work at it.

Overall, I went into it thinking I had an absolutely microscopic chance of ever getting published. That the novel would need to be perfect, that the query cover letter would need to be even more perfect, and that even if both were, it would come down to personal taste.

Turns out, absolutely not.

I literally left the thing feeling 98% more optimistic about my chances than I was going into it. It took SO much anxiety out of my novel writing process - that often otherwise gets so extreme that I can barely work on it.

[velvetfoxgames]

Only if it’s not too much trouble- would it be possible to know what the Halloween emails said? Looking forward to the game!

The photo edits of their costumes are a little too cursed to share, but here's the emails in the order they were sent:

BROOKLYN

Greetings.

Halloween is just around the corner. I will be attending a Hallow's Eve ball. It will require masquerade attire, rather than costumes, which is a bit boring. But I’ve coordinated an outfit with a black, gold and white mask. It’s an authentic Italian mask I had delivered from Rome. Besides that, unfortunately I don’t think any of my associates will be dressing up this month for meetings. I’ve decided to wear Halloween-themed ties, and I’ve also designed a few boutonnieres that will use darker colored flowers from the garden. This way I’ll still be keeping with some of the Halloween spirit.

I hope you’ll be engaging in Halloween activities this year. If you’d ever like any costume advice, please feel free to message me. I can recommend some historical ideas. I’d imagine you’d look rather nice in a 1910s Victorian outfit.

Be well and enjoy this month’s festivities.

Yours truly, Brooklyn Hayes

MILO

Hi. It’s almost Halloween. People at my work are dressing up and having a work party. I’ll be wearing a plaid shirt and jeans. So I’ll be a lumberjack.

I’ve never done much on Halloween before. And I haven't been trick or treating. If there’s anything you think I should try to do this year…I might listen. You usually have good suggestions for things. And a corn maze or something wouldn’t be too bad.

At the very least, I hope you do something fun in place of me.

Talk to you later.

-Milo

RORY

Hi. Halloween is in a few days.

I don’t usually do much for it, but someone is making me go trick-or-treating with them at a mall, even though we’re way too old for that

-_-

I’m also being forced to dress up. So I’m going as Eddie Munson from Stranger Things. I even have a wig. But don’t expect any pictures, because I don’t want that immortalized.

If it was up to me, I’d go to this haunted house nearby. It’s supposed to be really good. I’m actually not sure if you like scary things…? I don’t know. But maybe someday…we could go.

Whatever you’re up to, hope you have fun. Be careful.

Rory

ALEXEI

Hello,

Halloween is only a few days away now. I was doing some research on it the other day. Did you know that Irish immigrants helped bring Halloween to the US? And that jack-o-lanterns were originally hollowed turnips with lights in them to ward off spirits? Halloween is a celebration with a very interesting history. I don’t usually do much for it, but someone I work with decided to get me a costume this year. He thought it would be funny if he dressed me up as Chucky from the movie. I’m not sure why he thinks it’s funny. I have not seen that movie. I know a wig will be required.

I’ll be working on Halloween, but maybe I’ll send you a picture of myself, otherwise I don’t think too many people will see me dressed up.

I hope you have a good Halloween and do a lot more than me. I’d maybe like to see a picture of your costume as well.

Talk to you later and take care, Alexei

TOBIAS

BOO!!!

Happy Halloween B)

Well almost Halloween

I’ll be heading out to one of those celebrity costume parties tomorrow. You’ll probably see what I’m dressing up as in the press but maybe I can tell ya now ;)

I’m goin as a cowboy C):)  and let’s just say the vest I’ll be wearing won’t have anything underneath. Are u picturing it? Good B)

I'd like to know what ur going to be. Bet it’s cute. If you were coming with me to the party we could dress in matching outfits. Don’t know if you’d have much fun tho. Those celebrity parties are actually kinda boring. I think Id rather join with whatever ur doing

Don’t get into too much trouble tomorrow. Message me later. If ya can

Adios partner B)

LEO

HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 👻

Hey hey I hope you have a great day today!! Idk if you’re planning to go out or not but either way I hope you dress up or eat lots of candy or watch some scary movies!!! Do something fun because I want you to have the best day possible ^^

My friends and I are having a dnd night at one of their houses. Halloween campaign! We’re dressing up as video game characters lol I’m Link :D

Since we’ll be at a house we can hand out candy. Someday maybe next year I'd like to do something with you? We could go to a pumpkin patch or check out fall colors…just been thinking about it.

Anyway have a good Halloween!!!!!!!!!! Hope I can talk to you later ^^

-Link (Leoooo)

[my-castles-crumbling]

TO CAMP ANON

Hi love! Someone sent some advice to you, so I'm putting it under the cut because it's a bit heavy. I hope you're doing well <3

I’ve been keeping up with your tumblr and your asks and stuff, and I hope it’s okay but I had something to say to Camp Anon.

I sort of inferred the situation through your answers Cas. When I was a kid I was often in group at church with other “rebellious” kids. I know now that we were all the queer kids who hadn’t realised yet (credit to them, maybe some of them had) and then when I turned 16 and partly figured myself out I started getting invested in peoples stories.

By that point a lot of the kids I’d gone to church with were also closeted, and we started talking to each other about ourselves and our experiences.

And turns out a few of those kids went to conversion camps. The summers before and after I found out. 

One of the kids was a year older than me and is still a very close friend of mine. She’s actually taking a course to be a therapist now.

And there were a few things they said (and my friend still says when she decides to talk about it) that I thought maybe you should know. 

It seems like from Cas’ answers to the ask, that Camp Anon has been somewhere before and I presume is going somewhere else again this summer? (Parents don’t usually send kids the same place twice in a row)

Look, I have some advice that’s gonna suck but I think you should hear it. You need to know before you go to the camp what sort of level/type the camp it is. 

There are ways to find out and i’m gonna list some here and just do as much research as you can (safely) because if you’re unprepared it will be difficult to leave if you need to.

So the camp has to find away of telling parents what it’s like without directly saying it. It’s often found in quotes.

Theres a big difference between “helping your child” and “healing your child” and “fixing your child”. 

Helping usually means giving quotes and bibles and doing straight kid activities (whatever that means).

Healing usually means a lot of churchy sessions, “explaining” what’s wrong with you, being more delicate

And then fixing means being absolute dickheads. 

There should also be a website somewhere, or a form or something that your parents had to sign. Sometimes that can be over an email or sometimes it’s a letter. It’s just another way for the camp to cover their asses. Whatever is written inside it should give a vague message about the danger level, how many things they want to cover themselves for.

Also- about recording the camp. If you do decide to (no pressure, always prioritise your safety), focus on filming the other kids around you. If your phone is caught or found, if the videos start of silly with other kids in (as long as they know the risk of being caught with a phone too), it’s unlikely someone will scroll through all the videos, which will mean even if they’re deleted, you won’t rise too much suspicion. 

You can also hide videos in other places, like take a video you have and put it in a draft on your tumblr account, and then delete it from your phone. That can be done on Insta too. It does require internet but I assume you have mobile data.

Also camps without phones will still have wifi for adults, sometimes this is free wifi. If it is, don’t use it (if possible).

Also, sometimes the location of the camp on fliers won’t be the real location. For example, it might be the location of the church you go to, but the place you sleep might be one road over, so stay awake. Keep an eye on road names if you move from the location your parents dropped you off at (in case someone needs to come get you, and then can’t find you). 

It is illegal to say that being queer kids can be “fixed”. It’s against the law for camps to do this. Conversion therapy is illegal and wrong. Morally wrong and literally wrong. Not a thing. Doesn’t work. Total fucking bullshit.

And be careful. I know there’s a temptation to bring a weapon (like a knife) with you to these places, and it makes sense. But these kids have been through a lot, like you, and can be really depressed and have mental health issues. And you don’t want a kid to do something bad to themselves with a knife you brought with you to the camp. 

(Cas here: just remember if that ever happens, it's NOT your fault)

Just think it through. 

And be careful who you talk to, some of these kids believe the stuff they’re told. It’s not their fault but don’t assume everyone will agree with you about the situation. 

I don’t want to get too involved, I understand this is an overwhelming thing and reaching out just to talk about it was so brave. If you’d like I can ask my friend, who’s been to places like that, if there’s any personal advise she can give.  Or not, either way is fine. 

And finally, the area I grew up in had a terrible social services place nearby, and when you called the number for social services that school gave you, they’d just send someone from there. There was a kid I used to know who called social services on his family and the guy who showed up was friends with his dad. 

Idk if you have good social services or not but do some research first if you can ❤️

(Cas again: let me know if you want me to reach out to this anon to ask any questions or to get info from their friend! We support you <3)