#🎨 reviews

[bizzyboyfriends]

Doodlin. Just some warm up stuff cause I'm trying to get back into the swingy wingy of things.

[randomalistic]

People are posting all the art they made this year (2023.) well Heres my year

[lovinglin]

Welcome to I make y'alls tags into shitposts bc y'all are so fucking funny I SWEAR /pos /gen

[mistchievous]

performance review: stellar, stunning, perfect, amazing, beautiful etc etc

food opinions review: ROTTED???!!!???

ASFDASDFSADFASDFA

NO ONE ASKED YOU TO REVIEW MY FOOD OPINIONS, ALIE.

MY CORRECT FOOD OPINIONS AT THAT. 🤣

But also, thank youuuu. 😌 This means I get a raise, right? 🤔

Give me a performance review! 🌟

[instructionsonback]

[xn--painters-0225g]

Top 3 Rated Painters🎨 in Perth W.A. 50/364

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[punkpandapatrixk]

🍁Essentially, What’s Your Main Aesthetic? ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

Aesthetic is anything concerned with beauty or the appreciation of beauty💋Don't you think beauty is essential for human health? It inspires and uplifts the mind and heart, after all. I think the pursuit of beauty whether in things, people(?) or creation makes Life exciting~🎨And the attainment of that very beauty makes Life worthwhile~🩰

Beauty contains an essence of something Cosmic. If you get it, if you live by it, it has the capacity to connect the Human Expression to a Divine Experience. Why religion when there is Art?🎀lmao

What about your Beauty? Do you know where to find it? I think every person's Cosmic Beauty can be found in their Story🎠Your unique blueprint that's just waiting to be expressed whether in writing, in a melody, in a sculpture or perhaps a painting, and in aesthetic décor or personal fashion choices💄

Live and breathe your Art, aliens~🛸

pov: You Found The Enchanted Garden You Dreamed in Your Childhood | ultravclet

vlog: productive days 📝📖 finishing books, writing reviews, journaling, organising✨ | cups and thoughts

deck-bottom: 9 of Swords Rx, Gold Historian (Raphael Holinshed), Priestess of Success

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings] [buymeaboba]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – I’m Hurt, But the Show Must Go On

vibe: HER by MINNIE

poetic suffering – Ace of Cups Rx

Oh, almost your entire Life has been one bloody show—like, actually bloody, figuratively or literally—and you’ve survived it all, although some screws inevitably got loose here and there. You probably identify as having somewhat of a multiple personality disturbance—yeah, just a disturbance, not so much an actual medical disorder, but what do I know? The point is, you’ve developed many voices in your head🍹

I once read something someone wrote on a YouTube comment: ‘The voices in my head make fire podcast.’ I believe that resonates loudly for you and your kind of ‘problem’🥂lmao For some of you, this was developed as part of survival; but for some others, you couldn’t help but develop this ‘disturbance’ simply because you’re high-IQ. It’s just part of the mechanics of your brains. So, it isn't to say you're damaged...

The crux of the matter is that you were always an empathetic child. Creating all these characters or personalities was your way of understanding other people—why they did what they did, what they’d do in a given situation and some such. Like I said, some of you could’ve developed these voices in your head to anticipate chaos, but for some of you, this was simply a philosophical pursuit🎡

aesthetic insanity – Queen of Pentacles

Having said that, it isn’t to say that your whole existence has not been painful. After all, with such a sweet and sensitive heart you’ve had to fight for your place in this cold, cruel, criminal world where you were preyed upon. You were preyed upon because your aenergy was so good. Empathetic people tend to get preyed upon by narcissists not so much because they’re good just like that—but because destroying your sanity and sense of self feels good to a bitter narcissistic monster🤹

You get the difference? A narcmon could target just about anybody whether or not that person’s good. But you were always a much easier target because soft-hearted people can be very accommodating to other people’s wounds. And empathetic people tend to be willing participants in the cruel shitshow created by a narcshit because they want to be a hero in someone’s Story~🎭So, that’s been your shitstorm.

How’s dealing with that supposed to not fuck people up somewhat? But in the grand scheme of everything you’ve had to deal with, you see now that you’ve still got your integrity and sense of humour. That’s all that matters, really. Someone wrote a meme that says ‘You forced me to study narcissism. Now enjoy my educated ass.’ The most ironic iconic outcome here is that now you know how to play up narcissism to get back at real narcmons you meet in society🩰lmao

dramatic scene – Page of Pentacles Rx

So, essentially, if we could summarise what your main aesthetic is: you’re simply INSANE. You were forged in hellfire and came out a little woo woo, but you’re also genuinely superbly intelligent that you know how to use this woowoo to your advantage. The you that has come out of this hellfire is now operating on VENGEANCE🏵Could be for your past; could be for any abuser/manipulator you meet in society; could be for culture, tradition or the establishment.

Simply said, you want to wreck it. Fuck it all up. But with style and humour. You’re going to mirror back society’s cruelty and lack of empathy with sarcasm and a really dark sense of humour. Show ‘em how unintelligently they’ve been interacting with Reality! Either you’re a Gen Xer in your 40s or you’re going to really vibe with this generation’s dark, almost sick sense of irony🤪

Any form of self-expression that showcases your crazy, uncontrollable, unhinged personality would feel most authentic to you. Something deep in your psyche wants to get back at society; for that, you’re willing to play up the villain or menace in society, so long as that re-educates them about what it means to be Human. But deep inside, I know that you know that you’re still the same kind and caring little child with an unchanging loyalty to…Love😘

DIVINE FACT🔻❤️

dream design – Red Alchemist (John Dee)

essence of my identity – Priestess of Magick

Access bonus, cards + affs on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – I Still Dream of Everything I’ve Lost

vibe: Summer Rain by IRENE

poetic suffering – Page of Cups

Ah, you are a poet. A total romantic. Even if your idea of what’s 'romantic' differs from most people. If anything, more than anybody else around you, you seem to be the only one who’s got a saner, purer grasp of what ‘romance’ is all about💞More than anybody you know in your surroundings you want something much more honest and sweet. Most of the time, people just think you’re starry-eyed and unrealistic—but what you feel in your heart cannot be denied❣️

If what you’re feeling isn’t real then why does it exist in your Heart of hearts?💚That’s why you needed to do Art. Maybe poetry was your way to make sense of this clash between your inner world and the world around you. Maybe you devoted massive amounts of time and energy to creating aesthetic collages just to see your beautiful inner world reflected in the physical Reality—even if all of that beauty exists only on paper, illustrations or digital edits💻

Of all the people you’ve ever known, for some reason it always felt like you were the only one with a Heart for Poetry. It could be that your society didn’t much like this type of pursuit. Or maybe it was just your family that didn’t seem to have a high level of appreciation for the kind of Beauty that ever so naturally captures your Heart. In many ways, growing up could’ve been somewhat isolating for this reason…🧸

aesthetic insanity – 6 of Wands Rx

Always the weird one out. All because you have so much feeling. You feel and feel your emotions to oblivion. It hurts to be you, if anyone cared to know. To have your kind of Heart means to be so easily moved to tears by the smallest of things. A beautiful melody, a nostalgic vibe, a display of genuine kindness or happiness, people being unconditionally helpful and patient with each other. Things that may seem so casual in the grand scheme of human greed and ambitions…but you have no such ambition to become like the rest of ‘em🔫

It's hard to be this way from time to time. It’s a challenge to navigate the pond of compassion that exists deep within your Heart. In today’s world especially, it’s so much trendier to be jaded and cynical. For many, of all ages, that seems to be the most acceptable modus operandi🕹Even if you tried you wouldn’t be able to operate well on such a negative and unexciting command. Lucky you, you’re weird enough to not give a little bunny shit about fitting in or, obeying~🐰

You can be really emotionally divorced from the world outside of your imaginations that, to your own surprise, it really is that easy to detach from the expectations of society and drift to Neptune instead—probably dreaming your whole Life away on some distant nebulous fantasies🍄That’s why you identify as an introvert. Your rich inner lives are always far more interesting than any mundane conversation some Normie is capable of conjuring.

dramatic scene – Ace of Pentacles

In the grand scheme of everything that’s wrong with modern societies, you most likely feel that Humanity has lost much of its cherished values that you tend to like things that are either old—very, very old and out of fashion—or simply childish and/or otherworldly. In essence, you’re far more attuned to aesthetics that remind people of INNOCENCE. When things used to be much more beautiful, classy, thoughtful, innocent, and just….my gosh, cute🐶

And yet, you’ve most likely been told that you act motherly, or that, ‘You’re going to be a really good mother one day.’ People can sense that you’re trustworthy and dependable—very Old Soul, you know?👽In spite of how sweet and feminine or even weird you look on the outside, on the inside you’re integritous, and most everybody can see that because you exude this charmingly calm, mature and wise aura🌾

If you’re a creator or have a social media presence, what you put out there—illustrations, poems, edits, fanfics(?), etc.—seems to possess a healing attribute. I’m sure your audience have told you that your channel/page/blog serves as their safe space🚠People who tend to be loners or those who've often been misunderstood in society gravitate towards your vibe in real life and Art on the Internet. In that sense, you really are a nurturer and protector of some motherly sort🎀

DIVINE FACT🔻💙

dream design – Silver Astronomer (Galileo Galilei)

essence of my identity – Priestess of Contemplation

Access bonus, cards + affs on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Utterly Lost in this Sad Girl Escapism

vibe: Tejano Blue by Cigarettes After Sex

poetic suffering – Knight of Cups

Let’s admit it, you’re constantly drowning in feelings that you escape through obsessive drinking habits, yeah?🥃Most likely anything to do with liquid substances, so this could involve alcohol or coffee, or endless cups of herbal tea with heavy uses of creamer, or you could be the type that smokes obscene amounts of ciggies in a day or snacks violently on crisps all day long or… I dunno, putting yourself through hours of trance on some of Tchaikovsky’s most dramatic pieces?🎻

Perhaps this Reality is just that disappointing for you because the unnatural world doesn’t seem capable of offering ecstatic experiences what would match the feelings you carry since birth—thus your effort to escape into alternate states of feeling. You were born different🌜You feel more intensely, you feel more types of emotions, and you know more of the colours that make up the natural world; but in modern everyday reality, obviously something is missing. Cold-blooded post-war capitalism has made everything ugly…

Human interactions, as a result, become distant and dreary, unspiritual, unempathetic and unkind. And every single day of your waking hour, this awareness tortures and kills you on the inside🥓Depending on how artistic you are and how much Art you’re capable of producing, you may generally feel a sense of inadequacy from not being able to function ‘well’ in modern society. Even if you may appear to be doing just fine on the outside, on the inside you’re melting and flaring and swinging through everything…🌪

aesthetic insanity – XI Justice

If, for example, you’re the type that watches vintage movies, you realise that others your age may watch them for the laughs or other analytical pursuits, but you watch them genuinely for the staggering display of emotions, no matter how theatrical, and you get so involved and your heart aches and you let out a sob or a silent tear…🎭If not vintage films, umm, I dunno, anime, cartoon or perhaps, murder shows? Some of you may have a rather disturbing way of finding ‘materials’ what would let you feel your feelings more vividly🌈

The truth of the matter is, all of these pursuits are fuelled by a desire to find more honesty in the world. You find it vexingly difficult to express your true feelings in society; perhaps because you know this world ain’t ready for your kind of honesty. It feels like tedious intensity to them. And you’ve noticed that most people, actually, truly enjoy shallow interactions🦥Stooping to their level would be humiliating to you.

So then, you just do the best you can to feign normalcy and showcase a temperate disposition when interacting in society. But once you’re in your own company, that’s when you indulge in watching, reading or writing or creating or listening to exasperatingly profound things what would let you shiver from the core of your being☃️You, have a need to gasp and choke by emotions… And that’s intensely insane. And not many people would know what to do with any of it.

dramatic scene – Knight of Pentacles Rx

Well, not many indeed would know how to connect or get through to you. It’s true. And you may have felt very lost in this sad gurl escapism that seems neverending. As if you’d want it to end. If only you could verbalise this accurately and in a succinct manner: you have absolutely no idea how to be a responsible grownup. To begin with, what is ‘responsible’? But at this point, you don’t really give a damn anymore🙈

You grew up watching grownups perform duties and fulfil expectations—and they seemed responsible and sensible and capable. But your little heart always knew that these humans weren’t necessarily responsible in a spiritual sense. Your little sage mind always suspected that a lot of their ‘practical’ choices would sooner or later lead to much more disastrous outcomes🐾So in the end, what’s in being a responsible adult?

It was all too humiliating. And from a rather young age, you decided already that you would avert your eyes from the world of the grownups. And such it was that until now you still don’t know how to be ‘normal’ and ‘temperate’. Actually, more accurately, you don’t really know how not to be a destructive force to yourself. You just, have so much to say, and you don’t know what to say; so much rage, and you don’t even know who to be angry at…💔

DIVINE FACT🔻💗

dream design – Silver Physician (John Dee)

essence of my identity – Priestess of Luxury

Access bonus, cards + affs on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings] [buymeaboba]

[animaxvi]

🎨 ~ Color Theory & Design Tutorial ~ 🖌️

I've been thinking about making tutorials for a while now. So I thought I'd share about a subject I'm really passionate about! I did my best to make this beginner friendly & also as a review sheet 💜

(Please note this is from my own knowledge/experience! There are waaaay more resources, like books & videos, out there that are super helpful and go further in depth of this topic!)

[lifestealzine]

Lifesteal's most lovable tourist just gave a glowing review of the zine, but it seems to have glitched out?! 🐍

ONE WEEK UNTIL PRE-ORDERS OPEN!!

And we'll see to the bug fixes...

🎨: @uzumaki-is-empty-head

[fanged-beast33]

🎨: art_by_ava.georgia

“Elain gets a bad pie review - and Azriel is NOT happy. Especially since he helped her make it and they had so much fun together”

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

🎨: jessamybooks

i got tagged in this, presumably because the person wanted me to debunk it so here we go. (warning long post mostly because of the pictures, putting a break so as to not clog up y’all’s dashes)

the ic’s help for nesta was giving her an ultimatum of going to the house of wind or deportation to the human lands.

mind you, the former is also an isolation with a man she has verbally and physically made clear she wants away from her

“it’s not up for negotiation” again, the ruling power is forcing a war refugee to “choose” between being stuck in a house that would be gruesome to escape from, primarily with a man she wants to be away from and secondarily with another man who’s just as culpable in her imprisonment, and deportation to lands where they know she will be ostracized, subjected to prejudice, friendless, and practically housebound.

furthermore, amren lied about the rules of the night court when nesta rightfully brought up the fact that they were legally not allowed to do this. for all stans like to claim this was just like judge-appointed rehab, within that same modern context, lying about the law to force someone into “rehab” (mind you, through an intervention that had not a single medical professional involved), IS A CRIME

in contrast, nesta’s help for the women in the library was… pinning up a sign-up sheet.

yes, she intentionally practiced in the library, even after clotho asked her not to because it was distracting the priestesses who watched her

however, that was part of her plan to bring cassian down so the priestess could safely see how he trained her given their past terrible experiences with men.

also, there are seven whole chapters between when she puts the sheet up and when gwyn signs up. seven.

and then an additional five chapters when roslin, ananke, and deirdre show up in chapter 29.

ilana and lorelei join in chapter 38.

also note, nesta was going to give up and take down the sheet after her demonstration with cassian because it was her last resort. she still hadn’t physically bothered any of the priestesses, or initiated any unwanted contact.

additionally, clotho, herself, was happy when gwyn signed up.

so let’s review

the ic: forced nesta out of her safe space and demolished it, gave her a hosbon’s choice of training or deportation, and lied to her about their laws to bypass the illegality of their ultimatum

nesta: pinned up a sign-up sheet (which is by definition is voluntary), never physically bothered any of the priestesses or pestered them into signing up, and found a way to assuage any fears about a man training them without directly putting them in his way.

there is also a difference in time. the ic gave nesta no time to make her “decision.” she was forced into beginning her training the same day she got the ultimatum. in contrast, the time between when nesta put up the sheet, and when all the known valkyries from the library left the library to train is 21 chapters.

overall, i genuinely don’t think that anyone making this argument actually believes it, because it’s such a gross intentional misunderstanding of how the neo-valkyries came together, and stripping gwyn, roslin, deirdre, ananke, ilana, and lorelei of their personal choice to leave the library.

anyways, byeee

[jokeroutsubs]

[📝ENG Translation] Harper's BAZAAR Playlist: 10 songs chosen by Joker Out

Original article written by Uroš Milovanović for Harper's BAZAAR Serbia. Photo by Urša Premik.

English translation by @moonlvster, review by IG marija_rocen, proofread by X klámstrákur.

🎨New Canva design by IG aroxarts

Article and playlist curated by Joker Out below the cut! 👇

Slovenian sensation Joker Out captured hearts across the region with their Eurovision hit 'Carpe Diem'

Bojan, Jure, Kris, Jan, and Nace took the task of assembling this playlist seriously, but Bojan, the frontman of the band, was the one who answered our questions the most. They came up with the band name, Joker Out, by accident, while chatting on Facebook. They didn't know each other personally back then. Kris added 'Out' to one of the suggestions, 'Joker'. It was clear that it was a pretty attractive name for the media.

"If I were a DJ, I would play 'oldies but goodies', 90s and 2000s pop. Jan would play similar music, with the addition of Britney Spears. Kris would probably choose hip-hop, Nace would play Slovenian 'oldies but goodies', while Jure would play only Parni Valjak¹." (Laughs)

¹Parni Valjak is a Croatian and Yugoslav rock band formed in Zagreb in 1975. They were one of the most popular acts of the Yugoslav rock scene, and have maintained large popularity in all former Yugoslav republics after the breakup of the country.

In the last two years, the band has been building their career outside of Slovenia and playing across all of Europe successfully. They're satisfied with how the audience treats them, and also with the treatment from concert organisers: "We're much more serious. We see music as our job, and of course, we see it as fun too, but if we want to give it our all, we have to be completely serious about it."

They wrote songs for their new album during their two month stay in London, and they recorded them in Hamburg and Ljubljana, right after the tour: "We were pretty tired when we began recording. This had a positive impact on the sound of the album," Bojan told us.

Talking about Eurovision, Bojan says it was a once in a lifetime experience and adds: "I would tell future contestants to go to Eurovision completely prepared, with a clear goal of what they want to get from the competition and to be well-prepared for that."

[jeremiahhawkinsfanfics]

VIKTOR DISCOVERS JAYCE’S SKETCHES OF HIM ✍️🎨🥰

And starts falling in love ❤️

Extract from Loving is Caring Chapter 3

Read the whole fic on AO3 😊

“Goodnight, Jayce,” he said as he passed through the door.

“Goodnight, Vik!”

When the door of the guest room locked behind him, he let a long sigh pass his lips.

“What a night!”.

The guest room was the exact same as Jayce’s, with its pale blue walls and its large window where the rain was patting. It made the contrast even stronger; Jayce’s room was full of so much life, so many memories, this one was empty, made for people of passage in the Talis’ life. They came and left without a trace – like that girlfriend that Jayce didn’t even bother to tell the name.

Viktor lit the bedside table lamp, undressed and folded his clothes carefully on the top of the empty drawer. He sat on the bed and unclenched his corset’s buckles, letting out a sigh of relief when the tight grip finally left his ribs. He considered Jayce’s clothes; soft fabric, completely oversized for his slender frame. He carefully put them on. It felt very weird, wearing clothes that were not his – like he was doing something he shouldn’t, slipping in someone else’s skin – Jayce’s among anyone. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell by the way it let his shoulder out, and by the smell on the fabric. It smelled like laundry but not only – it had the same smell as Jayce’s room, probably the same also as Jayce’s skin and hair…

Viktor abruptly broke his train of thought, realizing all too well how dangerous the path was.

He turned off the light and laid in the bed – maybe a little sleep would help, indeed. He wrapped himself under the covers, carefully setting his leg and back, yet his eyes stayed open. They followed the wrinkles drawn by time on the ceiling, as he wondered how many had slept on this bed before him. How many guests? How many of Jayce’s girlfriends? He turned around with a frown. His eyes fell on the door. He could so easily imagine Jayce, braving his mother’s interdiction to meet his girlfriends in secret, walking silently passed this very door, slipping into this very bed, and…

“Stop this, Viktor. Now. This is a very slippery slope, right to a fight that you can’t win”.

Maybe a little bit of distraction was needed to chase these ridiculous ideas from his mind. He sat against the fluffy pillows, turned the light back on, and took Jayce’s research papers. Eyebrows furrowed in forced focus, he started to review the equations and the blueprints, writing his own notes and corrections with a little “V” in front of them. He was not egotistical enough to sign every page of his notebooks – not like someone – but he would still add his initial to make his thoughts and remarks trackable by Jayce in the morning.

Here and there on the pages, he noticed Jayce’s small sketches with an endeared smile. As he went through the pages, he could spot a lonely eye, hands writing, or holding a cup of coffee, the view from their lab, a man sleeping, someone from the back in a corset that looked… suspiciously like his. He looked closer. The lines were imprecise, missing many details, proving that it was drawn from memory and not on the spot, but there was no doubt: these screws on the back, these heavy buckles, these leather strips…

“Did he draw… me?!”.

His pulse quickened. If it was really from memory, the details were impressive: the grip of the corset over his waist, the curve of his shoulders, how his hair fell on his nape. Viktor’s fingers brushed the back of his neck. “Do I really have a beauty mark there?”.

With a gasp, he suddenly realized that the sleeping man was also him – he didn’t notice at first, but the beauty marks on the face… that couldn’t be someone else. Besides, he was probably the only man Jayce saw sleeping on a regular basis.

His heart skipped a beat. These drawing felt so… intimate. To his knowledge at least, no one ever drew him before, let alone in such vulnerable situations. He flipped quickly through the other pages and found more sketches, on various topics: a tree like the ones in the cobblestone street of the neighborhood, the façade of the closing bakery he walked by earlier today, a cat on a wall… then him again, looking half asleep, soaking a slice of bread in a cup of coffee.

Viktor chuckled, surprised that Jayce would draw him in this very routine situation. There was something a bit unsettling about being such a recurrent drawing subject without knowing. Even more so when he realized that, under Jayce’s pen, he actually looked quite good.

Viktor never considered himself a very attractive person. Not to be self-deprecating – he had his own charm and knew how to use it – but he never thought he could be seen as… well, pretty. Yet the vision of him that his partner was drawing had delicate features and a strong look in his eyes, highlighted by his beauty marks. A satisfied smile spread his lips, his long and pale fingers tracing over the lines of the sketches. Wasn’t it a small victory already to know that Piltovers’ golden boy found his looks interesting enough to draw him repeatedly, and in such a flattering light?

He resumed his review, checking carefully he didn’t leave any marks on pages that displayed sketches of him. He was quite sure that Jayce hadn’t even remembered them when he handed the papers over, and he had no intention of making him uncomfortable.

Turning the light off, he curled back into the sheets, the remnants of his smile still lingering. As he closed his eyes, the wonderful memories of the night embraced him: Ximena’s warm welcome, the heartwarming dinner, her kind words before they head upstairs, the late-night work session with Jayce. He hadn’t had such a sweet day in so long; he couldn’t even remember the last time he felt this good.

As sleep slowly began to take him into its blissful oblivion, he smiled under the warm blanket, lost in the smell that was a mix of Jayce’s clothes, the sheets’ delicate laundry scent, and the lingering ghost of Ximena’s cooking perfumes. He couldn’t remember the last time somewhere smelled like home to him.

But as the edges of sleep crept over him, Viktor’s thoughts stirred once more, picturing Jayce quietly opening the door and sneaking in the bedroom. “Viktor? Are you asleep?” the ghost of his fantasies whispered in his ear.“You forgot to kiss me goodnight”.

“Stop it, Viktor. Get some sleep,” he muttered, his eyes still closed, pushing the thoughts away.

That was a way too dangerous path.

Thank you for reading 😊❤️

Want to read more ? Read the whole fic on AO3 !

[sherewrytes]

ꜰʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ Gojo x Black Fem reader 5

↳ Satoru Gojo x f! black reader

In Tokyo's underground music scene, Exxor is on the verge of global fame, but beneath the glitz, emotions run wild. Lead singer Satoru Gojo shines in the spotlight, while bassist Suguru Geto battles his dark past and unspoken love for Y/N, a rising fashion designer. Their shared history is fraught with tension, especially now that Y/N is falling for Gojo. As her career catapults her into the global fashion arena, old feelings resurface, threatening to unravel the band and their fragile friendships. Can they navigate the chaos of fame, or will their secrets tear them apart?

Genre: Romantic Drama, Psychological Fiction

Content warnings:

Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationships, Unrequited Love, Mental Health Issues, Slight drug use

Playlist

Masterlist

Comment if you wanna join the taglist

Chapter 5:

Suguru's POV

I took the nameless girl back to my place. We didn’t talk much—there wasn’t really a need to. It was mechanical, detached. Just bodies moving together with no real connection. Afterward, she fell asleep almost immediately, sprawled across my bed as if she owned it.

I couldn’t sleep. My mind was too loud, drowning me in everything I tried so hard to avoid. So, I grabbed a cigarette, headed to the balcony, and lit up. The first drag hit like a wave, momentarily numbing the edges of my thoughts.

Leaning on the railing, I pulled out my phone and started scrolling Instagram, anything to distract myself. That’s when I saw it.

Gojo’s private account. Not the public one for the band—the one he used for his personal life, where he posted the real shit. A carousel of pictures stared back at me.

The first one was of him and Y/N. She was laughing, her head thrown back, her hand gripping his arm like he’d just said the funniest thing in the world. He looked smug, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head, his arm slung casually around her shoulders.

The next picture was of Y/N and Zavier, her usual photographer, reviewing shots on his camera. She looked radiant, her smile soft and genuine. The kind of smile I hadn’t seen from her in a while.

The last one? It was just Gojo, holding one of her designs—a jacket with intricate detailing, her signature all over it.

The caption read, “Creative genius at work"

🎨✨ Obsydian’s finest. Can’t wait for y’all to see what she’s cooking up.”

I stared at the photos, my chest tightening with every swipe. My cigarette burned down to the filter, but I didn’t notice until the heat nipped at my fingers. I cursed under my breath, stubbing it out on the balcony beside me.

What the fuck was I doing? Sitting here, miserable and spiraling, while she was out there thriving. With him.

I hated how jealous I felt. How bitter it made me to see her smiling with Gojo like that. I hated that I couldn’t get her out of my head, no matter how many times I tried to bury her with meaningless hookups and cheap highs.

But most of all, I hated myself for letting it get this far. For pushing her away when all I wanted was to pull her closer.

I tossed my phone onto the table and ran a hand through my hair, exhaling a shaky breath. The city lights stretched out before me, but they felt cold, distant. Just like everything else in my life.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered if I’d ever feel whole again—or if I’d already lost the one person who made me feel that way.

I got a text from YN saying model rehersals are starting soon Su.. need you. I sighed and took another drag trying to clear my head

I stared at the text, the words glowing on the screen like a spotlight on my internal mess.

Model rehearsals are starting soon, Su. Need you.

She always did that—used that nickname like it meant something, like it didn’t cut me every time. I sighed and took another drag from my cigarette, letting the smoke fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. The nicotine was supposed to help, supposed to calm me down, but it wasn’t doing shit.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard, thinking of something to say. Something casual. Something that wouldn’t give away how badly I wanted to show up, to be the one she could count on.

But my head was spinning. The carousel of Gojo’s photos was still burned into the back of my mind, the easy way he fit into her life, her world. The world I’d pushed myself out of because I was too much of a fucking coward to figure out what I wanted—or maybe because I already knew and didn’t think I deserved it.

I leaned against the balcony railing, staring out at the city. The wind felt sharp against my skin, but I welcomed it. Anything to cut through the haze of emotions I couldn’t name and didn’t want to deal with.

Sure I’ll be there soon, I eventually typed back. Simple, straight to the point. No emotion.

I hit send before I could overthink it, but my chest still tightened. She needed me, and I hated how much that meant to me. Hated how easily I folded when it came to her.

I took one last drag, stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray before heading back inside. The girl from earlier was still passed out on my bed, oblivious to everything.

I grabbed my jacket and my car keys, glancing at her one last time. I didn’t feel anything—no guilt, no attachment, no regret. Just a hollow emptiness that followed me out the door and into the night.

If I couldn’t figure out how to let her go, the least I could do was keep pretending I could handle staying.

Her text hit me harder than I wanted to admit. I stared at the screen, her words sinking in.

Stop smoking. I know you're up smoking these hours. How are you supposed to sing lead one day if you smoke out your lungs? I responded with a simple roll-eye emoji, not in the mood to argue. Her next text came almost instantly: Gojo was great tonight for the shoot, but I missed having you there.

That one lingered, the words burning into my mind like the cigarette I just put out. I missed having you there.

What did that even mean? Was it just work, or did she mean more? Did she even realize what she did to me with texts like that? Probably not. She was just being her—casual, sweet, and so fucking oblivious to how much space she took up in my head.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair and leaning back against the wall of the balcony. The city was quiet, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful, just empty.

I typed back: Good for him. Seems like you don’t need me as much these days.

I hesitated before sending it. It felt…petty. But fuck it, I was feeling petty.

I hit send and immediately regretted it, but I didn’t try to take it back. If she wanted to dance around Gojo being her go-to guy now, then I wasn’t going to sit here pretending it didn’t bother me.

The response didn’t come right away. It didn’t come at all for a few minutes, and I started pacing, regretting every word I’d sent. But then my phone buzzed again.

Don't be like that, Su. You know no one does it like you.

And just like that, I was back where I always was with her—caught somewhere between wanting to hold onto her and wanting to push her away.

The girl from earlier stirred behind me, and before I could react, her arms wrapped around my waist. She pressed against my back, her warmth almost jarring after the cold night air.

She looked up at me with a sleepy smile, her eyes half-lidded but playful. “What are you doing out here all alone?” I sighed, letting my phone drop onto the balcony railing. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk or lingering moments, but she was here, and maybe I could use the distraction.

“Round 2?” I asked, tilting my head toward her, my voice flat but suggestive.

Her smile widened, and she nodded. “If you can keep up.” I chuckled dryly, pushing off the railing and letting her lead me back inside. The cigarette stubbed out beneath my foot, the city’s cold fading as the door shut behind us.

I didn’t want to think about YN’s text or Gojo’s damn photos. I didn’t want to feel the ache in my chest every time her name crossed my mind. Tonight, I could drown it all out. At least for a little while.

I woke up alone. Thank God. The sheets were a mess, and my head felt heavy, but at least I didn’t have to deal with awkward small talk or pretending to care about someone else’s morning plans. I stretched, cracking my neck as I rolled out of bed and shuffled toward the bathroom.

After relieving myself, I brushed my teeth, splashed cold water on my face, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot, and the faint smell of last night’s cigarettes still clung to me. Lovely.

I grabbed my phone off the counter and unlocked it, seeing a text from Kento. "I'm downstairs. When you wake up, bring your stupid ass down here." I frowned, running a hand through my messy hair. Kento never showed up unannounced unless it was serious.

Pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, I trudged downstairs to the living room. Sure enough, there he was, sitting on my couch like he owned the place, scrolling through his phone with a cup of coffee from my machine in hand. “You’re making yourself at home, I see,” I muttered, my voice still hoarse from sleep.

Kento looked up, his expression unreadable as usual, but there was something in his eyes that told me I wasn’t getting off easy today. “Sit down,” he said, nodding toward the chair across from him.

I groaned but did as he said, slumping into the seat. “What’s so urgent you had to invade my space before breakfast?” Kento leaned forward, setting his coffee down on the table. “We need to talk about YN. And before you even think about dodging, you’re going to listen.”

My jaw tightened, but I didn’t argue. I knew better than to try to out-stubborn Kento. Kento sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was trying to massage away the frustration. He shifted in his seat, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Shoko's been asking questions ever since YN showed up at rehearsals. Gojo's been asking me questions, too. You need to sort yourself out with her, Suguru," he said, his tone calm but firm. "She's moved on."

I felt a jolt in my chest. The words stung harder than I expected. I crossed my arms tightly, trying to shield myself from what I knew was coming.

I didn't want to hear it, but I couldn’t exactly shut it out either. "And so what?" I snapped, trying to push the ache out of my voice. "I’m just supposed to forget her? Forget everything? Forget that I… that I’ve loved her for years, Ken. Years."

I watched Kento’s expression soften, but his gaze didn’t waver from mine. He didn’t respond right away, like he was measuring his next words. I hated when he did that, like he was picking apart my emotions with the precision of a surgeon. Finally, he spoke again, his voice lower, quieter.

"She doesn’t love you," he said, bluntly, but there was hesitation there. "Fuck… I mean, not like that."

I froze. For a moment, my world seemed to stop, and all I could hear was the ringing silence in my head. The words echoed around my brain, bouncing off the walls, settling somewhere deep where I didn’t want them.

She doesn’t love you.

It felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me. I wanted to yell at him, to tell him he was wrong, but I couldn't. He wasn’t wrong, I knew it. I had known it for a while now, but hearing it out loud made it hurt in ways I couldn't explain.

I stood up abruptly, "Thanks, Ken," I said through clenched teeth, trying to keep my voice from breaking. My hands were shaking, but I kept them at my sides, gripping my fingers into fists to stop it. I didn’t want him to see me like this.

Kento’s face softened slightly, and he opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but I didn’t wait to hear it. I turned and walked toward the stairs, my footsteps loud and deliberate. The urge to escape was overwhelming, like if I stayed in the same room with him for another second, I might snap.

"Suguru, wait," Kento called, his voice lower now, more concerned. I didn’t turn around.

But I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t look him in the eye when I knew he was right, when I knew the truth that I had been running from. She moved on, and I was still stuck here, pretending like things could be different. Pretending like I could be different.

The stairs creaked under my feet as I made my way up, the weight of everything pressing down on me. I just needed space. Space to breathe, to think, and to figure out how to deal with the fact that I wasn’t the one she chose. That I had lost her, maybe even before I realized it.

When I finally reached the top of the stairs, I slammed my bedroom door shut behind me. I stood there for a second, hands on the door, breathing heavily. It was like the walls of the room were closing in on me, and I couldn’t get away fast enough. But I had no idea where to go from here. No idea how to fix this.

The silence in the room felt suffocating. I collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to take off my clothes or my shoes. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Didn’t want to hear anyone’s words of encouragement or advice.

I was tired of hearing people tell me to move on, as if it were that easy. But deep down, I knew they were right. YN had moved on. And I… I was still stuck here, lost in something I could never get back.

I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut, trying to block out the thoughts that kept swirling in my head. She doesn’t love you. She’s moved on. You’re just holding on to something that was never yours to begin with.

I knew Kento was just trying to help, but right now, all his words felt like salt in a wound that wouldn’t heal. I rolled over onto my side, burying my face in the pillow, trying to drown out the noise, the pain, the confusion. I wanted to shut it all out. I wanted to forget about her, but the harder I tried, the more she lingered in my mind.

And no matter how much I told myself to move on, a part of me would always be stuck in the past, holding on to something that was never meant to be.

YN POV

I left the band’s recording studio, clutching my bag tightly, and made my way to the Obsydian set, trying to shake off the lingering tension from earlier. There was always something heavy about being in the same room as Suguru these days, but I couldn’t let that distract me. Work came first.

By the time I arrived at the shoot location, my team was already buzzing around, setting up lights, backdrops, and props. It was organized chaos, and I thrived in it. Gojo showed up shortly after, still grinning from ear to ear like he hadn’t just left band practice.

“Thanks for filling in at the last minute, Satoru,” I said as he approached, his white hair catching the afternoon light.

“Anything for you, boss,” he teased with a wink.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Alright, let’s get you ready.”

Just as I was about to lead him to the changing area, Utahime walked in. She gave me a polite nod, her dark hair pulled back neatly, her makeup already done to perfection.

“Utahime, hey! Perfect timing,” I said, gesturing for her to follow.

The changing area was set up with racks of clothes meticulously organized by look and accessories laid out on a table. I handed Gojo his first outfit: high-waisted distressed pants in a rich navy blue. The pants were avant-garde to the core, with exaggerated, asymmetrical distressing that revealed hints of a sleek black fabric lining underneath. They flared slightly at the bottom, creating a dramatic silhouette, and the structured high waist featured asymmetrical stitching and a bold metallic clasp closure.

As Gojo changed, I handed Utahime her look. Her top was a reddish mesh fabric that was light and airy, almost gauzy, with a high turtleneck that framed her face beautifully. The fabric had an abstract, textured pattern that played with transparency and opacity, giving it depth. The cropped length stopped just above her waist, revealing just enough skin to make a statement. Her pants matched the avant-garde aesthetic, crafted in a muted reddish-brown hue with pleated detailing that flared slightly at the ankles. Together, the look was bold yet ethereal, fitting perfectly with the vision I had for the shoot.

Gojo stepped out first, shirtless, his tattoos on full display. They snaked across his chest and arms, a mix of abstract shapes and intricate line work that complemented the edgy vibe of his pants. He struck a pose, smirking as he ran a hand through his white hair.

“Looking good, Gojo,” I said, adjusting the waistband slightly and stepping back to examine the overall look.

“Looking good? Y/N, I look incredible,” he replied with a grin.

Utahime emerged next, her outfit soft yet commanding. She walked with quiet confidence, her movements deliberate. I adjusted the hem of her cropped top, making sure it fell just right, then stepped back to admire the two of them together.

“You two are going to kill this shoot,” I said, gesturing for them to head toward the set.

Gojo slung an arm casually around Utahime’s shoulders as they walked, and I followed behind, already envisioning how the shots would turn out. This collection needed to be perfect, and I knew I could rely on them to bring my designs to life.

The shoot kicked off with Gojo and Utahime working through their first looks effortlessly. Choso, my go-to photographer, was already snapping away, his camera clicking rapidly as he directed them with ease. His eye for detail was unmatched, and I trusted him completely to capture the mood of Obsydian’s latest collection.

We moved quickly, cycling through outfit after outfit. I adjusted every detail obsessively—tightening a strap here, smoothing a hem there. Gojo transitioned into a tailored yet deconstructed jacket in deep charcoal, paired with layered pants featuring cascading fabrics in muted tones.

Utahime shifted into a sleek dress with exaggerated sleeves and asymmetrical slits, the deep emerald fabric draping like water against her frame. They posed together and separately, their chemistry palpable and perfect for the avant-garde energy I wanted to convey.

As Choso lowered his camera after one particularly stunning shot of Gojo smirking into the lens, he turned to me with an expectant look.

"Alright, these look great. But…" he paused, glancing around the set, "where’s Geto? Wasn’t he supposed to be here?"

I sighed, already anticipating the conversation. “He couldn’t make it tonight,” I said, keeping my tone neutral as I fussed with a rack of accessories.

Choso tilted his head, not buying my casual dismissal. “Couldn’t make it, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You two good? He never misses a shoot.”

I glanced up at him, biting the inside of my cheek. Leave it to Choso to zero in on the tension. “It’s nothing,” I replied quickly. “Just scheduling conflicts. That’s why Satoru’s here filling in.”

Choso let it go, for now, turning back to his camera. “Well, these two are killing it,” he said, gesturing toward Gojo and Utahime, who were laughing about something between takes.

“Yeah,” I muttered, watching as Gojo playfully tugged on Utahime’s sleeve, making her roll her eyes in exasperation. They were doing great, no doubt, but something about Suguru’s absence felt… off. He had always been the centerpiece of Obsydian’s campaigns, the perfect embodiment of the brand’s avant-garde ethos. His presence was unmistakable, and without him, it felt like something was missing.

I shook off the thought and clapped my hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, people, let’s move to the next set! Gojo, Utahime, you’re changing into Look Three. Choso, I want some tighter angles for this one—focus on the textures.”

Choso nodded, his focus back on his craft, and I busied myself preparing the next looks. But in the back of my mind, Suguru lingered like a shadow I couldn’t quite shake.

After wrapping up the shots for Look Three, I called for a break. The team scattered—Gojo plopped onto the nearest couch, scrolling on his phone, while Utahime wandered over to the snack table. I took a moment to review the photos Choso had taken so far, nodding in approval as I flipped through them.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew my attention, and I turned to see Nanami strolling in, followed closely by Toji.

I placed my hands on my hips, fixing Toji with a mock glare. “You were supposed to be here earlier,” I scolded.

Toji, ever the nonchalant one, rolled his eyes as he approached. “You know Megumi gets funny about me leaving him at home,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I crossed my arms. “You could’ve brought him.”

Toji chuckled, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around my waist with an air of casual familiarity. “Next time, sweetheart,” he said smoothly, the smirk never leaving his face.

Gojo, seated nearby, let out an exaggerated cough, drawing all eyes to him. “Am I interrupting something?” he quipped, raising an eyebrow as he glanced pointedly at Toji’s arm around me.

Toji just smirked wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, Satoru,” he drawled, giving me a quick squeeze before letting go.

Nanami, ever the pragmatist, rolled his eyes at the theatrics. “I was bored, so I’m here,” he said, his tone flat as he plopped down on the edge of the set, his sharp eyes scanning the room.

“You two just came to hang out or what?” I teased, brushing past Toji to grab a bottle of water.

“Toji came to be a nuisance,” Nanami deadpanned. “I came to see how the shoot was going—and maybe keep an eye on Suguru.” At the mention of Suguru, my stomach tightened slightly. “Suguru isn't here,” I said, keeping my tone as even as possible.

Nanami raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Toji, meanwhile, leaned against the wall, his gaze lazily drifting over the set. “You know,” he said, his tone light but laced with mischief, “I could fill in for Suguru. I’d look damn good in one of those outfits.”

Gojo snorted. “Yeah, let’s get you a crop top, Toji. That’d be a sight.”

The room broke into light laughter, the tension easing for the moment. But as I glanced over at the rack of clothes meant for Suguru, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of his absence all over again.

Toji rolled his eyes dramatically, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall. “For your information, Satoru, I model for Obsydian,” he said, his smirk dripping with mock superiority.

Gojo raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with an amused grin. “Oh yeah? When’s the last time you walked a runway, Toji? Or are you just the backup guy for Y/N when Suguru’s too busy being broody?”

Toji shot him a sharp look, his smirk never wavering. “Actually, I’ve been featured in her campaigns more than a few times. Y/N knows quality when she sees it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the banter, shaking my head as I grabbed a fresh water bottle from the snack table. “Alright, alright, don’t drag me into this. Toji’s been great for a few shoots,” I said, raising a hand to settle the tension. “But let’s not pretend you’re Suguru’s replacement, Toji.”

Toji shrugged, unfazed. “Never said I was. I just know I pull it off just as well as he does.”

Nanami groaned quietly from his spot on the couch, rubbing his temple. “Can we not turn this into a competition?”

Gojo leaned back, flashing a grin at Nanami. “Oh, come on, Kento. You know you secretly enjoy the chaos.”

Nanami fixed him with a deadpan stare. “I don’t.”

Utahime, who’d been quietly munching on a granola bar, finally chimed in. “Honestly, I think Toji would look great in some of these pieces. We could throw him in Look Five and see how he does.”

Toji’s smirk widened as he pointed at Utahime. “See? Someone here recognizes talent.”

I shook my head, laughing softly. “Alright, Toji, if you’re so eager, maybe we’ll give you a look. But if you mess up my vision—”

“—I won’t, I never do.” he interrupted smoothly, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Gojo groaned playfully. “This is gonna be good. I need to see Toji trying to strike a pose.”

The energy in the room lightened, everyone chuckling at the banter. But as I glanced over at Nanami, I caught the faintest flicker of concern in his expression. He wasn’t here just for fun, and I knew it.

But for now, I let it go, focusing instead on the shoot and the chaos Toji was undoubtedly about to bring.

Toji laughed heartily, his grin wide as he leaned casually against the wall. “Aye, aye, let’s not forget I was the first model outside your personal favorite, Suguru. We all know you both used to—”

“Anyway!” Kento exclaimed loudly, cutting Toji off before he could finish. “Y/N, what new items are you dropping? I need some fresh pieces to add to my collection. I’ve had your stuff since inception.”

I gave Kento a grateful look for redirecting the conversation. Toji’s smirk only deepened as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll behave,” he said, though his tone made it clear he had no intention of doing so.

“Well,” I started, walking over to my work table where swatches of fabric and sketches were scattered. “I’ve been working on a collection that leans even further into avant-garde streetwear. Think exaggerated silhouettes, distressed layers, and experimental materials. I want it to be bold but wearable—like a statement that doesn’t scream, just whispers confidently.”

Kento nodded, his interest clear. “Sounds right up my alley. What’s the color palette?”

“Monochrome for the most part,” I explained, holding up a few fabric samples. “But I’m adding pops of deep jewel tones—emerald, amethyst, maybe even a little ruby red. Something that stands out but doesn’t overpower.”

Utahime walked over, brushing her hands off after finishing her snack. “Are you doing any accessories with it? Because I loved the leather harnesses from your last line.”

“I am,” I said with a nod. “I’m thinking oversized belts, experimental bags, and maybe some modular pieces that can transform depending on how you wear them.”

Gojo, who had been scrolling on his phone but clearly listening, glanced up. “Do I get any exclusive pieces for being such a dedicated stand-in model?” He gave me a playful wink.

“You’ll get whatever I give you, Satoru,” I said with a smirk, making everyone chuckle. “But don’t worry, I’ve got something in mind for you.”

Toji interjected, crossing his arms. “And what about me? If I’m gracing your campaign again, I better get first dibs.”

“You’ll get a thank-you and maybe a jacket,” I teased, rolling my eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Toji.”

Kento cleared his throat. “I’m serious about placing my order early, Y/N. You know how quickly your pieces sell out.”

“I’ve got you covered, Kento,” I said warmly. “You’ve always been one of my biggest supporters.”

As the conversation shifted back to the shoot, I felt a sense of ease settle over the room. Despite the underlying tension that came with juggling professional and personal dynamics, moments like these reminded me why I loved what I did—and the people who made it all worthwhile.

The shoot was back in full swing, the energy in the room shifting as everyone found their rhythm again. To Gojo’s visible surprise, Toji was absolutely killing it on set. Despite his bulky, heavily tattooed frame,

Toji moved with a surprising grace, hitting poses that no one expected from a guy who usually looked like he belonged in the middle of a bar fight rather than under the lights of a photoshoot.

Choso, our photographer, was eating it up. “Toji, hold that! Perfect, now tilt your head just slightly—yeah, like that. Beautiful.”

For one particularly dramatic shot, Toji decided to up the ante. He grabbed a random object—what looked like an old book prop from a previous shoot—and, to everyone’s horror, lit the edge on fire. The faint glow from the flames cast an eerie but undeniably striking light across his features.

“Another light source,” Toji said with a grin, casually holding the burning book like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Toji!” I yelled, storming over as the rest of the room froze, caught between awe and panic. “What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to set my studio on fire?”

He only laughed, his deep chuckle echoing through the space. “Relax, princess. I’ve got it under control.”

“You’ve got nothing under control!” I shot back, grabbing a fire extinguisher from the corner and spraying the flames down. “I swear to God, if you burn anything in here, I’ll make sure you never work with me again.”

“That’d break my heart, Y/N,” he said mockingly, clutching his chest like I’d just struck him. “You know you’d miss me.”

Gojo, watching from the sidelines, shook his head, half-amused and half-exasperated. “You’re insane, Toji. But I have to admit, that shot was kind of badass.”

Choso, still clicking through the photos, nodded in agreement. “I mean, he’s not wrong. That lighting was phenomenal. I’ll tone down the flames in post.”

I shot Choso a glare. “Don’t encourage him.”

Utahime sighed dramatically from her spot by the makeup table. “Why is it always chaos when Toji’s around? Every time.”

“Because he’s Toji,” Kento muttered dryly, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. “And Toji thrives on chaos.”

Toji shrugged, clearly unfazed. “What can I say? The camera loves me.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to gather my patience. “Just get back to your poses and no more fire, Toji. I mean it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a mock salute, his grin still firmly in place as he sauntered back to the set.

As much as I wanted to stay annoyed, it was impossible not to laugh. Toji’s antics might drive me insane, but they also brought a certain energy to the shoot that was hard to replicate. Still, I made a mental note to triple-check everything he brought on set from now on. With Toji, you could never be too careful.

Toji, ever the troublemaker, casually lit a cigarette as he lounged in his next outfit—an avant-garde ensemble that somehow made him look both rugged and sophisticated. The smoky tendrils curled around him, adding to his brooding aesthetic. Choso snapped a few photos, clearly loving the vibe, but I wasn’t having it.

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “Toji, you’re not smoking on my set.”

He smirked, leaning back against the prop wall like he owned the place. “What’s the big deal? Adds to the aesthetic, doesn’t it?”

“The only thing it’s adding is a headache for me. Put it out.”

Instead of complying, he gave me a mischievous look. “Alright, I’ll make you a deal—come pose with me, and I’ll put it out.”

I scoffed, already shaking my head. “Not a fat chance, Zenin. This isn’t about me; it’s about you doing what I asked.”

He chuckled, taking a slow drag from the cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the low light. “You’re no fun, princess. Afraid you might steal the spotlight?”

I stepped closer, hands on my hips. “Afraid you’ll end up in the trash if you keep testing me.”

Gojo, who had been watching the exchange with a grin, decided to chime in. “You know, Y/N, maybe you should take him up on it. Would be a killer shot.”

I shot Gojo with a withering glare. “Don’t encourage him.”

Kento, from his spot by the snack table, let out a long-suffering sigh. “Toji, just put it out before she actually murders you. We all know she’s capable.”

“Alright, alright,” Toji finally relented, stubbing the cigarette out on the edge of a metal prop. “You win this round, Y/N. But I’m holding you to that pose someday.”

“Keep dreaming,” I muttered, turning back to the rack of clothes for the next look.

Toji laughed, his deep voice echoing across the set. “You’re going to miss me when I’m gone, princess. Don’t deny it.”

“Gone where? The psych ward?” Utahime muttered under her breath, earning a round of laughter from everyone except Toji, who pointed at her with mock offense.

The shoot continued, chaotic as always, but with Toji behaving—relatively speaking. I had to admit, as frustrating as he was, the man could model. But next time, I’d make sure to ban cigarettes, fire, and whatever else he thought might “add to the aesthetic.”

As the crew began packing up, I sat on one of the lounge chairs in the corner of the studio, exhausted but satisfied with how the shoot turned out. The clock on my phone read 1:07 a.m., and I realized I still had a lot to plan before Paris Fashion Week. I leaned back, rubbing my temples as my phone vibrated with a notification.

It was a reply from Suguru: "Sure I’ll be there soon."

I studied his response for a moment, the few words feeling oddly distant. He was always like this lately—short replies, minimal engagement. I frowned and tapped out another message, my fingers hesitating for only a second before pressing send.

"Stop smoking. I know you're awake smoking. How are you supposed to sing lead one day if you smoke out your lungs?"

It didn’t take long for the typing indicator to appear, followed by his reply: "🙄"

I let out a tired sigh, my lips twitching into a small, amused smile despite myself. Typical Suguru—avoiding anything remotely serious with an emoji.

"Texting Suguru again?" Gojo’s voice broke through my thoughts. I glanced up to see him leaning against the wall, his phone in hand as he reviewed the photos he’d just taken for his socials.

"Yeah," I replied, not bothering to hide it. "Model rehearsals and fittings are coming up. I need him to start getting his act together."

Gojo chuckled, setting his phone down on the counter. "Good luck with that. Suguru only does what Suguru wants. I’m surprised you haven’t just swapped him out for someone less… complicated."

I shot him a look. " He’s irreplaceable. He brings something no one else can."

"That something being a whole lot of drama?" he teased, his signature grin spreading across his face.

I shook my head, choosing to ignore his comment as I focused back on my phone. Gojo might not have been wrong, but I wasn’t about to admit it. Suguru might be a handful, but he was also the face of my brand—and for better or worse, a part of my life I wasn’t willing to let go of.

I stared at my phone, waiting for the typing indicator to appear, but it didn’t. His last reply lingered on the screen:

"Good for him. Seems like you don’t need me as much these days."

A pang of frustration twisted in my chest. Suguru always had a way of turning things into a self-pity party when he felt threatened. I sighed, leaning back in my chair as the weight of his words settled over me.

I typed out a response carefully, my fingers hovering over the keyboard before pressing send:

"Don't be like that, Su. You know no one does it like you."

For a moment, I held onto hope that he’d reply. The minutes stretched on, the empty notification bar mocking me. Eventually, I let out a resigned sigh and set my phone down.

Gojo walked over, noticing the change in my mood. “Still nothing?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to say much.

He plopped down in the chair next to me, slinging an arm over the back of it. “You know, for someone who keeps saying he’s not interested, Suguru sure acts like the jealous boyfriend.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s not jealous. He’s just… complicated.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Gojo said with a smirk, though his tone held a hint of seriousness. “You always make excuses for him.”

I glanced at him sharply, but the playful glint in his eyes softened the edge of his words.

“I’m not making excuses,” I said, a little defensively. “I just know him better than anyone else.”

“Maybe,” Gojo replied, leaning forward. “But do you ever think about how much you put up with just because it’s Suguru? If it were anyone else, you’d have let them go by now.”

I didn’t have an answer for that. Instead, I grabbed my bag and stood up, brushing off his words as best as I could. “I’ve got fittings to finalize tomorrow. You should head home, Satoru. It’s late.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just don’t work yourself into the ground, Y/N. Paris Fashion Week or not, you still need to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Satoru,” I said pointedly, ignoring the knowing smile he gave me.

As I walked out of the studio and into the cool night air, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease lingering in my chest. Suguru’s silence felt heavier than usual, like there was something he wasn’t saying—and I couldn’t help but wonder if Gojo was right.

[littleworldofsienna]

Art Haul Supplies 🎨 Unboxing New Art Materials from SHOPEE - SEAMIART

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