Tangled Realities (Ot7xreader)

You stared at the blank screen.

The screen stared back.

A silent battle of wills.

“…Okay. Let’s do this.”

Step one was idea.

You had none. Absolutely nothing. A perfect start.

Grabbing your stylus, you hastily sketched out rough frames, hoping—praying—that Minseo wasn’t expecting something straight out of a Studio Ghibli film. Your storyboard was crude, but it laid out the basic sequence of movements. It was something.

This part wasn’t so bad. You blocked out rough movements, ignoring the choppiness for now. The keyframes were in place, the motion was... decent, and you were starting to think, Hey, maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

At first, everything was fine. The animation was moving smoothly, the character design was decent, and you were feeling a rare sense of accomplishment.

Then it happened.

Your software crashed.

You hadn’t saved.

You stared at the screen in horror as your entire progress vanished into the void of digital oblivion. Your soul physically left your body.

Panic. Despair. Betrayal.

Screaming—internally, maybe externally—you restarted. Again.

Three more hours passed. Your stomach grumbled in protest, your back ached from being hunched over, and your eyes burned from staring at the screen for too long. But the animation was finally coming together again. You could do this.

And then, because the universe apparently hated you, disaster struck once more.

Your stylus battery died.

Your coffee spilled on your notes.

You realized—after far too many hours of work—that one single frame was slightly off, completely ruining the flow of the entire animation.

You stared at the screen.

The screen stared back.

You seriously considered throwing yourself out of the window for dramatic effect.

Cue the mental breakdown.

“WHY DID I THINK I COULD DO THIS?”

“I’M JUST A GIRL. A STRESSED GIRL.”

“I HATE EVERYTHING.”

“I’M MOVING TO THE MOUNTAINS AND BECOMING A SHEEP HERDER.”

At some point, you ended up on the floor, sprawled out like a tragic movie heroine in the middle of an existential crisis.

And then—your phone buzzed.

Jimin: "Thinking of you. Hope you're okay."

Taehyung: "We miss you. No pressure, but hurry up and come back."

Yoongi: "You're capable idiot. Now c'mon do it."

You stared at the messages, your lip trembling slightly.

You inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and wiped your face.

Because if there was one thing you weren’t going to do, it was let some middle-aged animation boss with a superiority complex win.

With renewed determination, you dragged yourself back to your desk.

And somehow—somehow—you finished.