#and fashion inspiration are shared under this tag.

[sonwagaurav]

designs for things.

[bweirdart]

nearly oc-tober time again - time for some prompts for 2024

F.A.Q

do i have to draw?

not at all! you are free to participate with any medium that suits you... writing, artwork, free bases and templates, simple text posts, in-character-as-your-oc roleplay, whatever! (just no stealing or AI)

do i have to make new content?

nope! re-uploading old stuff that fits the prompts is allowed (and encouraged) ... old art that didn't get the appreciation it needed always deserves a chance to be shared again, it's a fun throwback!

do i have to post every day?

nope! only 10 days are mandatory (the ones in red with a star symbol) and everything else (yellow) is 100% optional! if you're busy or tired, please skip as many as you want

can i start early?

you can prep your posts in advance if you need to ... but please wait until the right day in october to share them!

can i re-upload your prompt list to another site?

i would prefer if you dont - i have accounts on most sites, so just reblog/retweet/share from me!

event tag?

#bweirdOCtober

have fun!

image desc/text version ↓under the cut↓ or on bweird.art/october

prompts:

WEEK 1: OC INTRODUCTIONS

⭐ 1: FAV OC

what makes them your fav?

2: NEW OC

how recently did you make them?

3: OLD OC

how long ago did you make them?

⭐ 4: UNDER-APPRECIATED OC

an oc you feel like you don't talk about enough, or you haven't fleshed out as much as you would like

5: RE-DESIGNED OC

an oc who has changed a lot (what changed about them?) or, if you haven't redesigned an oc: is there anything you might want to change about an existing oc?

WEEK 2: BUILDING BACKSTORY

⭐ 6: PAST

where is your oc from? what did they look like as a child?

7: LIKES

what do they like (and why?)

8: DISLIKES

what don't they like (and why?)

⭐ 9: RELATIONSHIPS

doesn't have to be romantic! can any kind of relationship (frienship, family, rivalry etc)

10: PERSONALITY

what are your oc's main personality traits

11: SYMBOLISM/THEMES

what represents your oc? is there a specific colour you associate them with, or a specific animal?

12: FUTURE

what will your oc look like in the future? do they have any plans or goals?

WEEK 3: FUN + GAMES

⭐13: MEMES

do any memes remind you of your oc? are there memes your oc would find funny? maybe you want to redraw your oc as one?

14: WHO/WHAT INSPIRED YOUR OC

are there existing characters that your oc looks like? was your oc based on yourself? is your oc originally from a specific fandom?

15: MUSIC

share a character playlist, write a songfic, post lyrics that remind you of them, etc

⭐16: EYES CLOSED or NON DOMINANT HAND

draw a picture of your oc with your eyes closed or with your non domminant hand, write or type a paragraph about them without your eyes closed, etc ... have fun, and don't worry about it looking "bad" -it's meant to!!

17: DnD ALIGNMENT CHART

put all your ocs into a DnD alignment chart, or any other similar chart if you prefer

i've compiled a few templates on my site, but you can find more easily if you google "oc alignment chart"

⭐18: SWAP

swap something between your ocs - their role in the story, hairstyles, personalities, fashion taste, species ... whatever you want! how would this difference change them?

19: PALETTE CHALLENGES

draw your ocs with as many of these colour palettes as you want (or just skip if you don't draw/don't like doing these!)

hex codes for the colours:

palette 1 - #3C1E81 #6D1EA2 #B059E8 #FE0876 #FE5284 #FE7C96 #E0CFE3 #FFD5C3

palette 2 - #352823 #673F28 #AB541C #BA8233 #897128 #A68B2F #F7BF6A #DAC3A4

palette 3 - #A42E25 #D7412B #E47C29 #F7A233 #FCC02D #FCE4A6 #486548 #FEFDE8

palette 4 - #2F4769 #39597E #53779C #94D1E7 #AADDE7 #D48DB7 #D498B5 #D2BABA

WEEK 4: COMMUNITY

20-26: A WHOLE WEEK OF SOCIAL STUFF

if you don't have the time/energy to do every day this week, ⭐ day 23 is the only one marked as mandatory! you can skip the rest!

some ideas for what you could do: talk about a friend's oc you like, make gift art/writing of them, collabs, trades, reblog/appreciate ocs in the event tag, make interactions between your ocs and other people's

WEEK 5: HALLOWEEN

⭐27: FEARS

is your oc scared of anything? do they have any phobias? are they startled easily? would any of your ocs try to scare ppl on purpose?

28: MONSTER

what would your oc be if they were a monster (eg: werewolf, vampire, eldritch beast.. whatever) or, do you have an oc who is already a monster?

29: PUMPKIN CARVING

your ocs carving pumpkins, a drawing of a pumpkin carved to look like your oc ... or even carve it in real life!

30: GHOST

this can be literally a ghost, or a concept that haunts your oc! up to you!

⭐ 31: COSTUMES

what are your ocs wearing for halloween?

[amazing-nightcrawler]

NIGHTCRAWLER WEEK 2024 NOV. 11 - 17

Welcome Nightcrawlers!

The Amazing-Nightcrawler is proud to present our first NIGHTCRAWLER WEEK featuring our favorite Fuzzy Blue Elf, Kurt Wagner aka The Amazing Nightcrawler! We hope you'll join in & participate! See you in November!

Nightcrawler Week Prompts

Day 1 - Circus or Swashbuckler Day 2 - Fangs or Fashion Day 3 - Shadows or The Silver Screen Day 4 - Alternate Universe or What if...? Day 5 - Family or Abilities Day 6 - Romance or Team Leader Day 7 - Creator's Choice

Alternative Prompts

Sword Devotion Trapped Abandoned Exhibitionist Hope

Nightcrawler Week Ao3 Collection - Opens Nov. 11 2024

Creators can use one or both prompts for each day. Alternative Prompts are available for additional inspiration; Creators can swap out a daily prompt for an alternative prompt or use it in combination with a daily prompt or not at all. Creator's Choice can use any prompt in the list or whatever the Creator's heart desires.

Please read all FAQ's & Rules located under the read more. If you have any questions then drop the Mods an Ask. The Amazing Nightcrawler Discord is accepting new members! This is an 18+ Marvel Discord server. Please read & follow all rules upon joining.

FAQ's

What is Nightcrawler Week?

Nightcrawler Week is a Marvel Fandom Event created by Nightcrawler Fans for Nightcrawler Fans, with fanworks featuring Kurt Wagner, aka Nightcrawler.

I want to be creator, how do I join?

No sign ups, no checks, just create whatever you feel like creating! Choose one or all of the prompts. Please read and follow all rules to be a part of this event.

What type of fanworks are accepted?

All types of fanwork are accepted; light, dark, fluff, angst, romantic or platonic, etc. please be sure to tag properly. Fanworks include: Fanfiction, Fanart, Podcasts, Edits, Playlists, Podfics, Moodboards, Aesthetics, Gifs, etc. You may commission work to be submitted but it must be created for this event, so no reposting an older work for this. Due to Tumblr's restrictions we cannot reblog anything that is explicitly N S F W, but we can reblog links to N S F W creations that are hosted on other sites.

What media is accepted?

Any and all media that features Kurt Wagner this includes; Comics, Animation, Movies, and Video Games.

Do I have to create to participate?

Not necessarily, while creating is highly encouraged, we also value the fans who wish to participate in the event by sharing, reblogging, commenting, and supporting Creators works!

When does Nightcrawler Week open?

Nightcrawler Week opens on November 11th, Kurt's Birthday! The week closes on November 17th. During this time Mods will be checking the #nightcrawlerweek tag to reblog creations to this blog. So don't forget to tag with #nightcrawlerweek or @amazing-nightcrawler so we can see your posts! You can also add to our Ao3 collection.

RULES

1. No Racism. Racism in any form will not be tolerated nor accepted. Kurt was raised in a Romani Family, please be mindful and respectful about their culture.

2. No Pedo, Incest, Pseudo Incest fanworks (such as Amanda/Kurt where they are raised as adopted siblings or Rogue/Kurt.) (However X-Men Evolution Amanda/Kurt is accepted as a ship pairing.)

3. Absolutely NO AI generated fanworks, including art or writing.

4. No Nightcrawler x Reader, Character Imagines, Kinships, Selfship x Nightcrawler. (OC x Nightcrawler ships are welcome!)

5. Kurt is not a furry, or an alien/demon/catboy, he is a Human Mutant, please be mindful to not dehumanize Kurt.

6. Don't like? Don't Read! You, the fan, are responsible for your comfort in fandom. If there is something that upsets you then please take the steps necessary to remove yourself from that situation.

7. Tag your triggers! Please remember to properly tag your work!

8. You must use #nightcrawlerweek in the first 5 tags of your post so that Mods will be able to find your work and share. You may also use @amazing-nightcrawler to tag us on your posts.

Mods will not share any works that does not comply with the rules. We strive to be a supportive & fun community, no drama or racism will be tolerated.

[shesimsplayer]

shine bright like a diamonds..

I think this is going to be my favourite category.

I was inspired to create Aaliyah by the singer Tyla, so let's think of her as a prototype, so here are a few facts about her biography:

Age: 28 years old, birthday June 15, 1996, zodiac sign: gemini

Living: Oasis Springs, Aaliyah lives in a luxurious, expansive mansion in Oasis Springs. Her home has been featured in lifestyle magazines for its blend of modern architecture and artistic decor.

Musical Genre: Aaliyah is a versatile artist who seamlessly combines elements of pop and jazz in a style she calls "Jazz-Pop Soul." This approach, with its rich jazz undertones and catchy pop rhythms, appeals to a wide audience and has made her music memorable.

Influences: she draws inspiration from classic jazz legends like Nina Simone and contemporary pop icons such as Alicia Keys. Her sound includes touches of blues and R&B, giving her songs a soulful, emotionally resonant quality.

Early Beginnings: she started her musical journey at just 16, singing in local clubs where her powerful voice and magnetic presence quickly attracted attention. She was discovered by a producer and signed her first record deal at 20.

Awards and Recognition: Aaliyah has earned multiple Grammy nominations and won the "Best New Artist" award during her first year in the industry. Critics have praised her unique ability to infuse jazz nuances into popular music.

Fashion: her style is both chic and eclectic, often featuring a mix of designer brands with bold, unique statement pieces. 

Hobbies: Outside of music, Aaliyah has a passion for art and painting. She also actively supports local artists, hosting exhibitions in her home to showcase their work.

Personal Life: A huge basketball fan, Aaliyah often attends games in her free time. She’s been open about her admiration for a well-known NBA star, with whom she’s rumored to share a close connection. Fans speculate about a budding romance, though she remains tight-lipped about the details.

Lots recommended: The Osasis Restaraunt, SBA Stadium, Techo Azul 

With her deep roots in jazz and a flair for pop appeal, Aaliyah Lawson stands out as one of the most dynamic performers of her generation.

All rights belong to the creators, and huge thanks to them for the custom content.

If you have any problems, don't be shy and text me. But hopefully everything will be fine. If you add Aaliyah to your gameplay, tag me under posts, I'll be insanely happy!

DOWNLOAD

[rottiens]

⊹ ˚. how to be human (again), ft. gojō satoru

tags. secret relationship au (the beginning), strangers to friends to lovers, gojo is a bad cook (he's trying), cw blood, inspired by the canon universe, references to geto, the system and the higher ups suck, the reader is (was) a gojo fan, slightly angsty (the reader loses a friend on a mission and has a crisis) to comfort, female terms used for the reader. | wc. 6.3K

notes. this was quite a journey and I'm not sure if anyone will read this but if you do and enjoy it thanks for reading, hugs and kisses <3

It's not like you've thought about it before, it's definitely not like you've stopped to think about it for more than five minutes a day or like this has been a conversation you've had more than once with some of your friends, however none of the theories you may have discussed in secret could compare in how it felt to have the great Gojo Satoru in front of you.

You take a quick glance off your lap to check on him and verify that he's certainly still focused on his phone —even if he's still wearing the blindfold, it's not like that's going to stop him from answering his messages, right?— and upon verifying that he is indeed not paying attention to you, you go back to feigning interest in the magazine you are holding in one hand: in the colorful pages showing the latest fashion trends and in the 3D red-haired girl who is almost coming out of the magazine while making the peace sign with two fingers, even though she doesn't manage to stop your thoughts from orbiting around Satoru again. 

You think it's strange again... you feel him, you know he's there but at the same time it's like he's not there. Sometimes you have to look up to verify that he is really still there and that it is not a trick your senses are playing on you. Being in front of Satoru feels like when the back of your neck bristles and your heart shoots up at an accelerated rate for no apparent reason, like feeling like you're being watched by something even though you know it's the middle of the night and you're really home alone. 

You could feel his cursed energy vibrating, coming in intense waves from his direction, dulling your own and in turn making you feel like a little bug. His energy wasn't rough or violent, you couldn't describe it that way no matter how intense it was, it was more like being under the sun as its rays burned your skin. You couldn't say there were any bad intentions in this one either but what you were sure of was that he was alert, as if he was always waiting for an attack, like when your feet are on the edge of a tall building and vertigo bites your spine and the soles of your feet. 

In front of you, a few inches from your crossed legs sits a small wooden table; on it are cluttered magazines and two cups of tea that were served for you at least an hour ago. You've barely taken a drink from your cup, too nervous to make an unplanned move, after all with your luck you'd most likely end up tripping over the cup and spilling everything in front of one of the people you admire the most.

There wasn't a sorcerer who didn't know Satoru and all that he was capable of, so knowing that if all goes well you will be allowed to teach at the same institution as him puts some extra weight and responsibility on your shoulders. That you will likely have the opportunity to work with him or share missions together makes your guts tangle with each other. Although you couldn't understand why the director had taken so long to arrive, you had been flipping through the same magazine for the last few inexhaustible minutes, trying to distract your eyes, controlling your impulses not to look at him again....

However, you can't help yourself and end up looking him up and down at least a tenth time. He really is tall, much taller than you remember and taller than you can tell from the pictures. Besides the fact that, sitting with one of his arms stretched out on the back of the sofa and his legs spread apart, his knees far apart from each other, make his body look bigger, this one manages to occupy almost the entire space of the sofa. His thighs spill out into the uniform making the baggy pants look full. 

Your head falls slightly to one side and you wonder what he is seeing behind that blindfold, how much he is able to see, could he really see you or were you just acting like a fool looking at him out of the corner of your eye whenever you could, could you really keep looking at him without being afraid that he is going to say something about it?

Satoru stirs, his legs close to imitate yours. You run away unnoticed to turn your eyes back to the magazine, to the model who has been the only witness to your nerves on edge for the last hour. With your heart pounding in your throat, you turn the page only to find two actors kissing passionately on the front page with the headline that their love has crossed over from the big screen to real life. 

Flustered and not sure if you're feeling guilty about nothing, you glance back at Satoru and the lopsided smile he greets you with makes you jump a little in your seat. Pools of sweat gather on the back of your neck and trickle down the small of his back. 

Did he...?

You lean over the table to grab the cup and hydrate your throat, however, your body turns to stone. 

"Did you know it's rude to stare?" He speaks after so long of silence and your grip on the porcelain trembles. "I don't think we've met before, have we?"

You improve your position against the backrest and try to regain your composure by sipping some of the cold brew before speaking. "I don't think so, no." You hate tea. 

Satoru clicks his tongue and pushes his body forward to get a better look at you as your eyes struggle to stay somewhere fixed on his body other than his lips or thighs. "I could have sworn I've seen you somewhere." 

You're so embarrassed at what you're going to say next that you think you're going to faint.

"I had asked you for a picture before." And your voice cuts off at the end, unsure about the recent confession.

If you get to work together there could be no lies between you so you decide to be honest from now on, no secrets. Then everything also served as an excuse for the way he caught you looking at him. Yes, you did meet him once in person but you were so nervous that you barely remember the details of your encounter. 

Satoru rubs his jaw with his fingers, then the smile widens pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

"Hm. At that convention a few years ago maybe?" In a stupor where you can only move your eyelids and head, you nod in his direction. "The cutie with the colored hair..." He really did have a very good memory, you think and memories of that day begin to overwhelm your head in the form of embarrassing polaroids. "You're such a fan! You were so excited," Satoru adds, laughing, as if everything he mentioned before wasn't embarrassing enough.

"I wasn't officially a sorceress yet back then..." 

"Oh." He wasn't laughing, but he had a grimace that threatened to do so at any moment. "You're justifying yourself? You're not a fan anymore then?" He almost sounded disappointed and at this point it was impossible for you to keep looking at him, so arranging your posture on the couch you adopt another position where it allows you to maintain your dignity somehow. 

"I wouldn't say I was a fan..." You try to explain but Satoru interrupts you.  

"You definitely looked like a fan to me." He was laughing now. 

"What I mean is that I've matured now." You speak quickly as if trying to make a point. "I'm not a fan, just an admirer." You clarify, trying to get him to see that between those two words there is some difference that you are seeing clearly.

"Does that mean you don't want a picture again?" 

That photo you still keep in your nightstand drawer, well hidden under books, your phone charger and one or two other bracelets you wore as a teenager haunts you even in your dreams. You had forgotten about it. 

"No..." You force yourself to answer by shaking your head. "I don't think it's necessary now that we're going to be working together." 

Which fills you with pride, by the way. You were personally recommended by the principal of your old school, being transferred as soon as you graduated to Tokyo High to work under their jurisdiction alongside the strongest, someone you've looked up to since you started attending sorcery school is something that fills your chest so much that you could barely breathe normally.

You always wanted to have the opportunity to defend the weakest, that's why even though your clan was strong and you possess a cursed strong technique, you worked and trained every day earning the recognition of special grade sorcerers, among them your former director. Being in the capital and being able to protect more people, all this shoulder to shoulder with a man you admire was like a dream come true, one that slowly turned into a nightmare. 

Over the years you realized how corrupted the system was, the bad decisions made by the council and the higher ups, making sorcerers die every day without anyone stopping to mourn or miss them because all they were good for were as tools.... 

... You don't know why suddenly the first time you interacted with Satoru comes to your memory now, the only two things in common between the two events is that you couldn't breathe and perhaps that you were both sitting next to each other in an enclosed space that seemed to close in on you. At the time you were proud of what you were doing, sure of your every decision since protecting the weakest was something you had lived for—  though now, you weren't so sure of that anymore. 

"Hey." You feel him touch you, but not really. His cursed technique gets in the way once again, as always, protecting himself from you and the outside. The metallic smell of blood is permeating you, your hands and your uniform to a point where it's unbearable and overwhelming, your gut twists and your mouth fills with saliva threatening to make you vomit at any moment. Your eyes on the verge of popping out of their sockets carefully fixate on the calluses on your hands and the crimson liquid that stains them and gets trapped under your fingernails along with a bit of dirt. "Are you okay?" Satoru asks and that's the problem, you weren't. None of this was okay.

"Ijichi, stop the car," you say still admiring your hands, perplexed.  

"Ijichi, don't stop the car." Satoru retorts. 

"Ijichi..." Your call sounds like a warning and the man pulls over to the side of the road immediately, you hear him apologize right away along with the thousand and one reproaches that follow behind it from Satoru. 

The blood is left plastered on the door as you leave, it is left on your face as you push some of your hair away from your face. 

The desert heat manifests itself in small droplets on your forehead, limiting your vision and in an unquenchable thirst that scrapes your throat.

"I'm going to quit..." you whisper to yourself but the wind carries your words to your companion who was hurrying to your side battling with the sand in his shoes. 

"You're not going to do it." 

"You can't tell me what to do." 

Your heavy footsteps were soon leading you away from him as a stabbing pain bit into your muscles and your feet complain of the pain your shoes have been giving them all day. 

"It's just a mission gone wrong!" 

You stop suddenly and turn your body to face him. You're planted in front of him shaking with anger not just because the higher ups were going to reproach you and probably stop giving you special rank missions for months, maybe years—

"It wasn't just a mission gone wrong, someone is dead, Satoru!" a scream rips your throat as you shout the sorcerer's name, the feeling burning in your chest is not just that of a mission gone wrong, it's the death and blood of your friend on your hands.

Those spikes must have gone through that civilian, not your friend, that person who was with you since you started working for Tokyo, that person who supported and encouraged you when things weren't going so well. Just twenty hours ago you were having coffee with him in the coffee shop below your apartment and now you talk about him in the past tense. As life faded from those beautiful eyes, full of kindness, always ready to tell you that you were going to be okay they were gone.

"You need to calm your emotions or you're going to curse him." Was that really all he could say to you while you were getting wrecked in front of him? Your hands that tried so hard to stop the bleeding in your partner become fists. "This is not what he would have wanted, [Name]."

You snort, then start pacing in circles, searching for the right words other than fuck you. Suddenly you stop to face him and find yourself with that usual annoying blindfold that separates him from everyone else, that never lets you see what he was thinking, and you point an accusing finger at him.

"What do you know what he would have wanted, Satoru? You didn't know him." And you know you shouldn't keep talking, you're biting your tongue because you know you don't have to say it but if you don't that vein in your temples is going to explode. "You don't know anyone because you don't let anyone in, not even me who is supposed to be your friend." The word friend comes loaded with imaginary quotation marks and with the weight of all the years and missions you've shared together.

He says your name a second time, now sounding weak. 

"You are so busy, on your unreachable throne as the strongest that you would never think of the idea of being vulnerable and watching those you love die because you love no one." His jaw muscles are tense, showing you that you may have struck a chord. 

"That's not true. I'm trying to make this a better place, I want the sorcerers who are growing up to be better, stronger, who don't need someone like me and I understand you—" 

"You have to recognize the privilege you have, Gojo." He hated that you called him by his last name because it puts distance between you and makes you those strangers again in that meeting room while you waited for Yaga, but you have a point you wanted him to understand. "Please don't pretend you understand me, because you don't."

Tired of the conversation that seemed to be going nowhere you turn around, there is sand inside your white socks and uniform pants, with a heavy heart and head thumping you set out to get as far away from him as you can. Somewhere far away from those six eyes that always see everything and his cursed energy that seem to drown the whole desert beneath his aura. 

Satoru stops you by pulling your arm towards him, his fingers are an invisible force holding your wrist prisoner and you have no strength left to fight, the adrenaline from the fight that ended badly starts to evaporate along with the sweat on your forehead and you let him stop you, your anger replaced with a deep sadness. 

"I can't," you mutter closing your eyes, giving in to the flame of the sun toasting the top of your head. "Let me go." 

"I won't." He couldn't do it because he already saw what happened to a friend the last time he did it. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice, even if he had to fight yourself in the process. 

"I'm not going back to Jujutsu High," you say and your voice sounds steadier, swallowing the lump that ties your throat.

"I won't make you do it," Satoru snorts through his nose. "But at least come with me." 

You don't have the courage to turn and face him so you just nod, giving him permission to do as he pleases. Everything happens so fast you don't have time to process it, his big arms wrap around you in an invisible embrace, his cursed energy is vibrating all over the place and you don't stop him or try to complain the moment his arms squeeze you tightly and it only takes a couple of seconds for you to open your eyes and the hellish heat of the desert is replaced by a safe roof and four walls surrounding you. 

The thermal sensation of the air conditioning makes you shiver from the sudden change in temperature, making your skin bristle. You take a breath of air and step back finally breaking the safe space Satoru created for you and he doesn't stop you when you take space between the two of you or when your curious eyes examine the place, though the answer was obvious— an unstoppable "Where are we?" slips out of you, needing to hear a verbal confirmation that he too saw the same thing you did and that this was not an illusion. 

"My place," Satoru says so simply, hitting the bull's-eye on the idea created in your head. There are questions about teleportation you'd like to ask him but for the moment you keep quiet, admiring your friend's comfortable apartment as if it were a museum. 

You were in the middle of the kitchen and your body felt tingly and somewhat weak from the teleportation, your feet not quite sure that the ground they were walking on was real. You were surrounded by white colors and a few shades of brown coming from the countertop. You never imagined how Satoru would live, in fact he was so god-like that sometimes you forgot that he also ate and slept like you, yet for the money he must have had in his bank account the place seemed very... simple.

"Why do you have less stuff than me in my apartment?" The question comes in a joking tone wanting to break the ice even though you were still annoyed. "I thought you were rich," you add. 

Satoru emits a laugh that sounds more like a snort. "What makes you think I'm not," he declares arrogantly. You write him off as a smug fool, though you try hard not to roll your eyes at his attitude. "I don't need to buy so much stuff because I'm always traveling. I just come here to sleep."

Satoru motions inviting you to move around his apartment with him. You decide to follow him, walking down a short hallway just behind him. You watch as his fingers curl around the door handle at the end of the hallway, opening it for you and revealing the bathroom. You feel your eyes fill with a mixture of fear and insecurity, similar to the eyes of a wary deer as you enter the room. With a slight creak, Satoru closes the door behind you, leaving you disconsolate and alone along with your tangled thoughts.

The walls are lined with pristine white tiles, with a sheen that reflects the light like mirrors. You approach the sink and notice the golden faucets emerging from the white porcelain with elegance. As you face the wall-mounted mirror, your own reflection seems to show confusion and an overwhelming sense of uncertainty.

Your hair is a mess, the strands had escaped from the tight bun you usually wear when going on a mission, the scrunchie about to fall out. There is a small scar on your cheek that runs horizontally across it and barely noticeable stains from your own blood-covered fingers that got there when you try to pull your hair away from your face. 

You look down and guilt hits your bile, the innocent color of the sink had been replaced by your bloodied hands which clutched at it tightly. 

Through a glass window, a ray of light filters in, bathing the room with a faint luminosity. The sun's rays draw mysterious patterns on the tiled floor. Shadows dance in the corners, and in the midst of this overwhelming sensory experience, your mind is flooded with gloomy thoughts and unanswered questions. 

At that instant, the sound of tapping against the door startles you, bringing you back to the reality of the bathroom. 

"I'll leave some clothes outside," says Satoru, who doesn't wait for an answer before leaving and giving your thoughts space again.

You turn back to the reflection in the mirror and again to your hands, give way to the water trapped in the faucet and scrub your hands with the liquid soap resting on the ceramic, helping yourself with it to clean up the mess you had made. 

Then, you get rid of your uniform and with your foot drag it to a corner to get into the shower, from there you step under the stream of water in an almost automatic way. You barely react to the coldness of the water but after a moment you get used to it, let it run over you and clean with the help of the soap the mud stains and something else that crawl into the drain. 

You squeeze until your skin hurts, until the water carries no more dirt in the drain and you scrub until you have no more tears to drop, it is only at that moment that you turn the shower and force yourself to leave the comfort you had found in that cold wall to get out of the cubicle and dry your body with a towel you found neatly folded hanging above the toilet. 

As you open the door you find on the floor articles of clothing that you pick up and close the door again to examine. The first was a white T-shirt, large enough to reach your thighs, this was accompanied by blue shorts into which you slip, forgetting that you needed underwear. 

If it were up to you, you would stay all your life in that bathroom that smelled of coconut and oatmeal but you had to pretend to be brave. You take one last look at the image in the mirror, ignoring the fact that you still need to fix your hair and that there are dark circles under your red eyes you decide to finally leave, being seduced by a sweet smell and sounds of dishes clattering against each other you are guided to the kitchen. 

"What are you doing?" you ask confused, in front of you was a Satoru whisking something with a fork inside a bowl in an exaggerated manner, being extremely extra and loud.

"Pancakes." You stand silently admiring the technique, feeling like laughing because it looks ridiculous but not giving him the pleasure of listening to you. Satoru had changed out of his uniform into casual clothes —baggy jeans in a worn blue and a strapless T-shirt—and had ditched the blindfold, gifting you for the first time what his naked eyes looked like.  "I'm trying to cook. I usually eat canned stuff and I've been wanting to learn how to cook, at least basic stuff." Satoru commented something like that before, that he would forget to eat or buy meals on his travels that he would then bring home and forget to consume, you didn't expect him to be serious back then. Imagining him cooking was very out of character for you. 

You approach the countertop in disbelief, stepping through the door frame and then climb a stool to admire him up close. With the help of your hands you hold your jaw and soon your whole head is filled with Satoru stirring the batter, inevitably silencing your thoughts and lulling you into a sort of trance. 

Satoru stops his task to set the batter aside and focus on you, it was even worse without the blindfold, you didn't know where to hide to escape him. His blue eyes were on yours, then briefly went to your lips. 

"You said earlier that I wouldn't let you in, I want to." 

"You don't have to." You reply curtly, keeping up the mask that you don't mind losing his friendship, clinging to your anger. 

"I want to try." 

You're silent for a moment. "I'm not going back to Jujutsu High." Then you warn him. 

Satoru breaks the dueling stares to grab the bowl with white batter again which was starting to take on a fat texture, you wrinkle your nose at the strange consistency and at the tiny bubbles in it and the thought of criticizing his style of making pancakes lingers on the tip of your tongue. 

"I'm not going to force you to stay." Satoru takes a ladle and dips it into the batter, pouring a first misshapen pancake into a previously buttered pan. "But Maki is going to miss you." You roll your eyes. 

"You're not going to blackmail me."

"I'm not!" he laughingly defends himself, with a spatula poking the pancake around the edges to check if it was already browned —spoiler, it wasn't—. "But she really will." You think he's not really talking about Maki, though. 

Satoru flips the pancake which wasn't burnt or browned, it hadn't even been cooked and the spatula along with the pan are sticky from the batter. Exasperated, you get up from the stool to head over to him. 

"Come here." You don't wait for him to answer you to pull the spatula from his hands and try to save the pancake which screams in the pool of boiling butter.

"Oh, you're going to show me how it's done?" he asks half indignantly, half laughing. 

"Uh-huh." You reply, turning down the stove flame. "I'm not a teacher anyway, I don't have anyone under my care. And if I'd had a chance before I've blown it now." You return to the subject, ignoring the stove as you pay more attention to the coat of paint on the wall.  

"You were good today." Satoru says softly, it's so comforting the way he addresses you that you feel like crying but you mask it with a brief pout. 

"It's not enough to just do well. I lost more than the respect of the higher-ups today." You distract yourself by flipping the pancake over, the top showing you a burnt golden color, much more decent than what Satoru was doing.  

"Nobody's perfect, [Name]."

"You are." You reply too quickly as you victoriously scoop out the first pancake and throw another bit of batter into the pan, more butter. 

For longer than you would have liked to admit, all you hear is the bubbling of butter toasting the batter. 

"That's what you think of me?" Satoru breaks the silence and you notice out of the corner of your eye that he's folding his arms. 

"What does it matter what I think?" 

"It matters to me," he admits, looking at you for the first time. "You are my friend after all. You don't care what I think of you?" 

"Not really." You lie, taking the opportunity to flip the pancake. Even though Satoru probably knows you're doing it, his eyes widen slightly, looking you up and down. 

"I thought you were my fan." He puts a hand to his chest for added drama, gasping for air at the same time.

"Please forget that!" 

"You were eating me with your eyes thinking I didn't see you. That's workplace harassment, I could report you, you know?" 

"Shut up!" you threaten him with the spatula smeared with the mixture and a couple of drops fall to the floor. 

Little by little the plate was filling up with the pancakes that to your surprise didn't taste so bad, you shared one with Satoru before finishing cooking them and you even flattered him —they're okay, they were literally your words, it was the only praise you could give to his first attempt—, you knew he was going to get better.

From the shelf Satoru takes out two porcelain plates and places them side by side and brings them towards you, you are sitting on one of the stools. 

"Thank you."

"Are you going to stay over or do you want me to take you home?" Satoru asks before sitting down, poking at one of the fluffy pancakes. 

You take your time before answering, honey drizzling over the mountain of pancakes and making a puddle on your plate. The question bounces around in your head, reliving memories of the recent failed mission. 

"I think I want to be alone." You answer finally, focused on pinching a pancake with a fork. 

Satoru says nothing more, his gaze not falling back on you while you, on the other hand, check him with the side of your eye every five seconds. You force yourself to fill your mouth not to talk anymore because you had nothing more to say and whatever comes out of your mouth now could be dangerous. 

So you swallow and chew the words you never said, mixing them with the sweetness of honey and the burnt part of pancakes. Even though the silence is uncomfortable, there is a certain tranquility to it. 

After eating you help him wash the dishes and Satoru offers to drive you home. It was on the tip of your tongue to refuse but you were sure that it would be faster and the sooner you arrived the sooner you could throw yourself on the bed and get warm under your sheets next to your cat, so without time to lose you picked up your uniform from the bathroom and sent him your address through the gps which made you realize that you didn't live so far away. 

On the way you didn't talk much, just chattered about the irony of the weather and the heavy drops splashing against the window. You asked how his students were and he asked how your cat was, and before you could realize it Satoru was parking his car in front of the entrance. 

You accept his invitation to accompany you to the door, trotting in front of the coffee shop that had already closed, inhaling the smell of freshly brewed coffee that lingered in the air. He steps forward when you invite him into the warmth of your home. The light from the bulb chases away the shadows and draws your gray cat towards the entrance to greet you between meows, his soft fur brushes against your legs and then as if he has known him all his life he rubs against Satoru's legs and Satoru can't help but be seduced by the little animal and squats down to pet him while you smile at the scene. 

Satoru stretches out his knees again, lifting his size above you. 

"You're safe and sound," he says." You don't have to-"

Your bottom lip is quivering and you blame the raindrops you caught on your mini marathon from the car to your door, Satoru frowns and takes a step in front of you. You see his hands shaking but he forces them to keep still on either side of his legs, you can't see his eyes because they are hidden under the sunglasses but the concern on his face is more than evident. 

"Can I hug you?" Satoru doesn't say anything and just pounces on you, as if he's been waiting for you to give him permission. It's like always, you can't feel him but you're thankful he's here. "I was so scared there," you confess, forcing yourself not to cry and he realizes the fragile state you're in. "I don't want to see another friend die." Your arms tighten around his waist, lending weight to your sentence. 

"It's okay," he points out, stroking your back as if it were your cat. "I'm the strongest after all, you don't have to worry about me." 

You snort, sinking your face lightly into his unreachable chest and give him a light smack from behind that he never feels. 

Suddenly, as if something is pushing you, you fall on top of him, your face sinking into his chest and you quickly raise your head to look at him. He was smiling, a grimace that reassures you and pushes the heavy tears you had been holding out of your eyes. You hide your face in his torso again and it's so warm, you can't help but inhale as he pats your head, through it all you realize that unlike you, he's not wet. 

"It's going to be okay." 

"Satoru..." You look up at him again.

"That day, the day we met for the first time your cursed energy was all over the place... it was soft and warm and I wanted to tease you for that, I waited impatiently for you to come near me." Your heart pounding, it squeezes your chest and you think he might have noticed. "But I couldn't say anything, I'm never at a loss for words but being next to you... I could feel your purity and your good intentions, the desire inside you to help others. So I lowered my defenses and let you touch me because I wanted some of the sweet sweet smell of your energy to permeate me, I know you don't remember it because of the euphoria of your fanaticism." He lets out a chuckle. "I haven't let anyone touch me in years and you're the only one to do it again after that day."

Incredulous and short of words you stare at him, stare at him and stare at him again, blinking as if you have all the time in the world to admire him, the sound of the rain pattering against the window competing with the drum that is your heart. Your mouth opens and closes a couple of times before you realize you don't know what to say. Satoru's cheeks are painted red and you've never stopped to feel the effect being near him has on you. 

You push your body close, intoxicated from the moment until your mouth finds his. Warm air seeps out of his mouth in the form of a gasp and reaches your tongue, you have to part your mouth further to let it in and swallow his gasps. 

Tentatively you deposit a kiss on his lips and he growls, you feel his fingers squeeze the fabric of your shirt and grip your skin. Unable to hold you another second not knowing how it would feel to kiss him you join in a slow kiss, you are surprised by the way he uses his tongue to lick your upper lip and touch the tip of yours only to pull back and place a hand behind the back of your neck allowing him to taste you better. 

Your journey with Satoru had been strange. You were his admirer —c'mon, you never stopped being one— then his co-worker and finally his friend. At some point you buried your feelings because you were too busy working on getting better and stronger to earn the place to stand and fight by his side, to earn the respect of the elders, you were sure nothing was going to happen between the two of you. You convinced yourself that you were happy with his friendship and the support that being close to him gave you, it was safe and it felt real... just like this moment. 

Satoru's hands were on your back, then under your shirt directly touching your skin. His fingertips were ice cubes that bristled your flesh, traveling in a sort of massage in all directions as you continued a slow dance, drowning out your mewls with rain and each other's lips. 

When Satoru finally breaks away your lips were slightly swollen, red, the same color as his. There was a dreamy look on your face that you hid by closing your eyelids and biting your lower lip, when you opened them you found that he was still there, hiding behind those sunglasses not really knowing what he was thinking but it was real, he really was here. At least you were sure that had really happened. 

"This thing that just happened," you say, trying to catch your breath. "It won't change my mind about quitting, I hope you know that." 

Satoru snorts a chuckle. 

"We can try a second time." You allow him to move closer to you again, his head cocked to the side taking hold of your lips, sinking his teeth into these. "Or a third." He gives them a little lick. "Or all night, I'm very persistent." 

You join in a shy giggle you both share. Satoru fixes his back and withdraws his hands out of your shirt and you almost miss them immediately, these are now on your face, cradling your cheeks and carving away the tears that managed to spill. 

"I care about you." 

"I know." You sob, your cheeks burning. 

"And I'll be there tomorrow for you and to face any punishment with you," he speaks sweetly, pausing briefly. "You know they don't have to mess with me, though. I'd destroy them in a second for you." Ah, there was the Satoru you knew. 

He leans in once more to kiss you and you think you could get used to this. 

"Should I leave?" he murmurs against your lips. 

"Stay," you say, your knees trembling from the closeness. "I too... I like you too." 

"Oh, I never said I liked you." Satoru smiles mischievously. You shoot him a dagger-filled glare along with a frown that gradually relaxes. 

"Thank you for being here," you sigh. 

"Thanks for letting me do it."

I still can't believe I wrote so much for something that isn't smut, sobs. But I've realized how much fun it is to write different genres and I can't stop. I was going to say something else but totally forgot lolol maybe I'll edit this later.

[artsy-hobbitses]

I've seen the headcanons with Megatron (ıt's delightful but i get a little sad at the headcanons involving Op and his blackling disease). I wonder if you have headcanons for Optimus or Strongarm Sideswipe ? 👉👈

By popular demand, please enjoy this compendium of Daddimus headcanons!

Optimue Prime/Omar Parvez used to smoke while he worked in the Dead End (mainly due to the stress), but gave up the habit when he was demoted to a dockworker.

He's the long-suffering mediator between the souls of the twelve Primes currently locked in the Matrix which he now bears. It's not unusual to hear him seemingly talking to or negotiating with himself, and Prima and Megatronus' catfights comprise the majority of his headaches.

Omar doesn't like being called Prime, but accepts it reluctantly as a rank. Those close to him only refer to him as Omar, or Optimus on a more formal basis. 'Prime' is who he is to the wider world, and was a rank unwittingly accorded to him by Alpha Trion/Aillard Toussaint. This happened when Aillard, upon facing an increasingly megalomaniacal Sentinel/Sedgewick who was trying to fashion himself as the next Prime and had arrested him under sedition charges for associating with Omar and owning banned literature, told Sedgewick that Omar was "more of a Prime than you'll ever be." That was captured on recording, and went viral very quickly, and Omar was being associated with the rank 'Prime' at a time when he was still using 'Orion Pax' as a codename. Optimus ('the best' ie. 'the best of us'), was co-opted by his supporters to counter Sedgewick's attempt to fashion himself as 'Sentinel Prime', defender of order. It's not until Omar comes back from the dead with a strange bauble embedded in his chest that he starts going by Optimus -sigh fine- Prime, to distance himself from his a nickname given to him by a now-enemy.

He has a love for rearing pigeons passed down from his father, who built a makeshift dovecote on the roof of their apartment. The pigeons on Aillard's estate know his face and answer to his call when he goes out to feed them daily. He has each one named and tagged, and even without food, they still flock to him.

He is the imam of the Muslim Autobot prayer congregation which comprises Hotspot/Hassan, Trailbreaker/Tariq, Steeljaw/Salim, First Aid/Fatima, Ramhorn/Raminah, and later on Streetwise/Shamar.

As such with the info above, is usually the first person awake on the base on any given day.

Excellent in the kitchen. Loves making Tapsi (a Kurdish aubergine casserole) for himself as a post-battle treat, but also makes a beef stroganoff bonkers enough that old college buddy Elita-One/Alisa Ivanova, upon finally being able to land on earth after dealing with Liege Maximo's bullshit, immediately hauls Omar into the nearest kitchen so he can make that specific dish for her.

You'll notice that Ratchet/Ronan has a patch of dark skin on one side of his face (Inspired from Osamu Tezuka's Dr Blackjack). As part of his torture when he was captured and held by Bludgeon, half his face was flayed. After Omar rescued Ronan, he donated skin to him for a temporary allograft. However, even at a point where Ratchet was well enough to receive an autograft from his own body, he refused since his body had not rejected Omar's allograft, and he wanted to keep it as it was as a symbol of the deep friendship the two of them share and the sacrifice Omar made for him.

Omar keeps a sketch that Bumblebee/Benjamin drew of him on his desk.

He makes time for Ben whenever Ben is laid up in medical bay, whether it's reading to him, watching his favorite shows he missed during field missions together, or just humming to him until he sleeps.

He's a pianist who plays by ear mostly, and time spent with Ben includes playing during Ben's ballet practice. You can tell what his stress levels are by the tempo of the pieces he's playing---if he sounds like he's setting the keys on fire, he has grievances he clearly needs to work out.

Omar has in his possession the once-beloved water-damaged notebook in which Megatron/Morgan first wrote notes for Towards Peace in---he had wanted to return it to Morgan when he found it outside his precinct station, but was too late as Morgan had already been shipped to Messatine when he came to the mines. For a decade, he kept it with him, and when Morgan came back, he tried to return it. However, Morgan, while grateful for the gesture, refused to take it back and told him to toss it or burn it, as it was "penned by a witless, childish fool", which he wasn't anymore. Omar refused to do so, and it remains in the drawer of his study desk---when he's feeling quietly hopeless, he'll open it up and see the pages where he and Morgan in their youths had drafted ideas together for a better system, and he's back to the drawing board. He refuses to give up on the hope for a better world, or that the Morgan he knew is completely gone.

His mother was a journalist who had experience running an underground publication network in Iran, and it was from her experience that Omar collated and distributed the notes from Messatine written by Morgan, which made up the full copy of Towards Peace. In essence, for better or worse, Omar is the reason Morgan's words spread as swiftly as they did on earth.

He also has a Youtube channel specifically dedicated to a little book club Blaster/Brandon had encouraged him to open up, after Brandon one day invited him to speak on an Autobot radio show and the number of listened spiked significantly. On this channel, he usually reads from a book of the month and discusses its themes/characters, as well as fields questions about his favorite written works in general. He has also at times, chosen books that Morgan enjoyed in their younger days. Whether he knows that Morgan sometimes listens in on him is something he'll brush off, but on the off chance that Morgan does tune in… he still thinks about you, old friend.

Turkish tea fiend.

Green thumb from setting up an urban garden in the Dead End, regularly tends to the communal garden at the Autobot base alongside Sludge/Slavomir and Hound/Hale.

In his early days as Optimus Prime, suffered from internal burns, severe chest pains (he said it felt like the sun burning up in his chest) and shortness of breath after major use of the Matrix's powers in battle. Note that back then, using the Matrix's powers wasn't aways a choice he consciously made, as it treated him like a host and would react to/be triggered by serious threats. The only reason the Matrix stayed in him then, was because neither Ratchet nor Wheeljack could figure out how to safely remove it, and there was fear that despite the way it was affecting him, it was what was keeping him alive and was too ingrained with his neural network to be parted from him.

Per the above, he was actually in chronic pain which he was medicated for and hid very well, up to the point where he finally made contact with the volatile, conglomerated mess of Prime souls in the Matrix during a coma and managed to calm them down/'untangle' them.

There is a little cairn at the roots of largest tree in Alpha Trion's estate where Omar's pigeons most often roost, which he set up for his father, Mirzan, who was killed by his former mentor Sedgewick on charges of disseminating seditious literature. He's never been able to retrieve his father's body and consequently, give the man a proper burial, and he feels guilty about it to this day.

[vintagesimstress]

1850: Night at the Opera (in collaboration with The Royal Thornolia Chronicles)

After my months-long Celtic spree, the time has come to briefly return to my old era of interest...

May I present to you a small 1850s set, made together with amazing Ali, the author of @theroyalthornoliachronicles! We're both so excited to finally share it with you all 💗 Make sure to check Ali's post for her half of the collaboration - practically necessary if you want your mid-Victorian gentlemen to be properly dressed for the evening!

While Ali dealt with the men, I focused - surprise surprise - on the ladies. And made two evening dresses, both inspired by the same fashion plate from ca. 1850:

If you follow Ali's story, you probably remember that a certain mademoiselle Eleanor Valery wore the dress on the right to an opera event. The dress on the left also made a short appearance, as it (or rather: its beta version) was worn by my simself Cecile, who was kindly invited to participate in the evening as well (no, that's not my real name. I just asked my husband to give me a random female French name, and that was the first thing he came up with ;)). And so both dresses are named after those characters: Eleanor and Cecile.

Both come in 29 swatches and I swear all of those colour combos come straight from mid-Victorian fashion plates - even if Ali claimed some of them remind her of 1980s Barbies ;)

polycount: ca. 17K for Eleanor (that's HIGH my friends, you have been warned. Believe me or not, it's mostly the fault of all those tiny deco flowers) and 7,5 for Cecile

Base Game compatible

HQ mod compatible (pictures taken with the mod)

Cecile uses glass shader for lace transparency = won’t work properly in laptop mode

all LODs

custom thumbnails, bump and specular maps, lots of satin shine

tagged as everyday and formal

found under long dress subcategory

colour tagged

disallowed for random

PDNs included if anyone wants to make recolours. You don’t need them for the mesh to work.

You might notice that they vary slightly in style, and that's because I put an insane amount of work into texturing Cecile, as somehow I couldn't get it to look any satisfactory with my usual methods. I love the result, but the whole process was so convoluted that I'm not even sure if I could still retrace all the steps, let alone redo Eleanor in the same style. So we're left with this small discrepancy between both dresses. Hope you don't mind!

DOWNLOAD on my Patreon (free, no ads or early access)!

And now, once again, jump over to The Royal Thornolia Chronicles for the other half of the goodies :)

[pixel-muse]

New Simblr User (Introduction)

Brown-Eyed Girl (she/her), 19 looking for simblr mutuals… could that be you?

Sul Sul! I’m Evangeline but you can call me Genie <3 I am a second-year college student from the U.S. of A., and with summer just around the corner I’ve recently started playing TS4 again and thought it would be fun to post on Tumblr.

My Style:

I love fashion so I am most interested in curating lookbooks. Recently, I started a magazine-formatted lookbook that will highlight beloved fashion icons. I hope to post these on the 2nd Sunday of each month! You can find them under the tag #PixelMuseMagazine <3

Every art form, from paint on a canvas to stories on film, inspires me greatly so in between these magazine lookbooks I hope to share TS4 photoshoots/screenshots based on whatever I’m feeling most touched by.

Truth be told, I am a terrible builder, but I am determined to get better! However, I do adore decorating and creating cozy and realistic spaces and hope to perhaps share screenshots from time to time. May dabble in some build buy cc recs!

To the right is my simself :)

This is all I can think of right now lol.

<3 LET’S BE MOOTS! <3

[icarusbetide]

suggestions for the amrev resource folder that nobody asked for?

i have the structure worked out and want to start adding resources in there: if anyone has any suggestions on edits to make beforehand, pls do so!

Shared Google folder with subfolders:

Events (Resources centered on "events"/"periods": aka Pre-War, Wartime Experience, Constitutional Convention, Federal Period, maybe even just "General")

Topics (Sexuality, Religion, Race, Fashion, etc.)

Figures (Hamilton, Burr, Jefferson, etc. with folders of their own separating their biographies, letters, primary sources, etc.)

Primary Sources (Inside: Newspapers, Letters, etc.)

Inspired (Section for media based on amrev period: thinking Hamilton, 1776, George Washington: Founding of a Nation, Turn. For instance, someone shared their Hamilton musical commentary book, so that'll be a resource under this folder)

NA (resources that don't fit and/or are about things that are too sparse for a specific category quite yet)

Along with this, I have made:

Masterlist: Google Sheet with every single resource in the folder. I'm working on making it sortable by tag (for larger category, specific topics, people, etc.)

Wishlist: A Google Sheet where you can add resources you've like to see but have no access to. Once they've been added to the folder, they'll be crossed off.

Submission Form: Anonymous Google form for anyone to submit resources. File upload or long answer section where you can give me contact info/link to your own folder are both options.

Help & Advice Form: If something doesn't make sense or you think there's a better way to do things, submit here.

RateTheResource: Google doc where you can write out your review/thoughts on a specific resource you are familiar with. I thought it might be helpful to provide context, especially for biographies, on bias level, etc.

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Five: Consequences

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎< previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 8k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ During the high-stakes fashion casting, you impress the judges but are later alarmed to discover that the agency’s influential creative director is the owner of the sketchbook that not only did you accidentally take home, yet also used one of its designs as inspiration for your attire, leaving you fearful about the potential consequences for your budding career. As the weight of this realization sinks in, you can't help but worry how you would entangle the knots of the predicament you’re now under.

a/n: there’s a subtle dbh and lis reference somewhere in here

tags: @beabatiny

The days leading up to the casting were a whirlwind of activity. Madame Dupont worked diligently on your dress, transforming the sketch into a beautiful reality. Each evening, you found yourself in the cozy confines of her room, watching in awe as she expertly sewed the intricate lace details and made adjustments to ensure the dress fit you perfectly.

Tonight was now the last day before the casting’s designated schedule, and as usual, you were busying yourself with watching her add the final touches to your attire. “You see, dear, it’s all about the details,” she began, her fingers deftly threading a needle. “Every stitch, every seam must be perfect. It’s what sets apart a good dress from a great one.”

You nodded, fascinated by her skill and patience. She had described sewing to you as one of her hobbies that keeps her grounded, but seeing her in action, your viewpoint slowly started to shift into something deeper. Sewing no longer seemed to just have been something she could use to pass time—it was a profession she seemed to be heavily passionate about. “I never realized how much work goes into making a dress. It’s truly an art.”

Madame Dupont smiled warmly. “It is, indeed. And just like with any art, it requires passion and dedication. Much like your modeling, I imagine.” You’ve spent many hours like this with her during the past few days, sharing both anecdotes and advice. Madame Dupont regaled you with tales from her youth, often making you laugh with her witty anecdotes.

As a comfortable wind of silence surrounded the room, you couldn’t help but let your curiosity get the best of you while you were watching her work her wonders on the dress she had insisted on making for you. “Madame Dupont, I have to ask... is this hobby of yours rooted from something deeper?”

She gently set the halfway done piece of fabric down on her desk, turning on her seat lightly to face you. “You managed to see right through me, dear. Yes, it is.” Seeing how you leaned in closer as if attempting to imply you wanted to hear more of it, she chuckled. “Back in my youth, I used to love fashion. I’ve always seen it as not just a concept about making outfits and plastering them on models to showcase on runways, rather, a unique way to express one’s creativity and wide knowledge capacity of art. Intricate designs, especially those who hold a deep story within, never failed to attract me like a moth to a flame. So, when I stepped foot into college, I headed straight to the path of becoming an art student.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. You’ve always thought of Madame Dupont as a woman who had a lot going on with her life, but hearing this specific portion of it wasn’t something you could say you have expected. “Really? That sounds wonderful and admirable, Madame Dupont. No wonder you were so adamant on helping me out on my casting,” you lightly joked, making both your laughters blend in with each other. Eventually, though, your tone shifted into one that’s more serious and perhaps a little cautious. “But... why didn’t you pursue your dream?”

Madame Dupont sighed, a look of longing in her eyes. “My family and I weren’t financially stable enough to keep me walking on that path. At first, I thought of it as nothing but an obstacle, and I even tried juggling multiple part-time jobs at once just so I wouldn’t entirely lose my grip on the ambition I’ve been wanting to reach ever since I was young. But as time passed, I slowly started to realize it was impossible. I couldn’t keep balancing multiple occupations at once until I graduated, and the look of pain in my parents’ eyes whenever I tried to convince them we just had to work a little harder to achieve my dream became unbearable through every passing day.”

It was heavily painful to you hearing her words, not because you found yourself wondering how things would’ve turned out for her if she and her family were under different circumstances, but you could also relate to the experience of not being able to achieve lifelong dreams over inevitable events. There was a lot you wanted to tell her, but you kept yourself silent, allowing her to let it all out.

“I felt like such a fool back then, dear. Mourning the life I lost that was never mine to begin with... it was a really tough experience for me. When I had to give up on my ambition and settle on something we could afford and manage with, I couldn’t stop thinking, ‘What if the world was a little nicer to me? Would I have been able to permanently hold onto what I’ve always wanted?’ And even up till now, it’s still a recurring thought in my head. If things were fated to turn out how I wished them to, would I be in a studio instead of the confines of my room right now?”

You couldn’t help but resonate with her words further. Having experienced what she went through during her youth was something you could easily tell wasn’t easy to get over with, especially since you’ve already had to face a similar situation—the details weren’t spot-on, yet the idea was.

Before you could speak, she leaned forward to take your hand in hers, gently caressing it. “And that’s exactly why I didn’t hesitate to offer you a helping hand the moment you told me about your first step in your new potential career. Because if I couldn’t achieve my dream before, then I’m fine with settling on helping someone else achieve theirs.”

“Madame Dupont, I...” Tears started welling up in your eyes, but she was quick to gently wipe them away before they could fall down. Who would’ve thought her offer held such depth underneath? “This means the whole world to me, thank you so much.” Seeing how her eyes flickered to the fabric laid down on the table, you were quick to shake your head. “No, no, not that. I mean, it’s just that hearing you comfortably sharing your story with me when you haven’t even known me for longer than a month is just...”

“Oh, dear. Don’t you start crying now, or else I’ll stop making this dress for you,” she scolded jokingly, making a broken chuckle come out of your mouth. “But seriously, though, there’s no need for you to let out those tears. If anything, I should be thanking you. Because in a way, you’re letting me live out my lifelong dream. It feels like I’m actually sewing a dress for a model—which I am, technically.”

You smiled, feeling the weight of her words. “Thank you, Madame Dupont. For everything.”

She patted your hand gently. “Now, let’s finish this dress. We have a casting to prepare for, and I have no doubt you’re going to shine.”

After a short while, Madame Dupont finally finished adding the final touches to the outfit. You looked at it in awe, marveling at how perfectly it mirrored the design from the sketchbook. Madame Dupont carefully set down her sewing tools, her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and anticipation. “So? What do you think about it?” she asked, her voice soft yet eager.

“It’s so… I don’t even know what to say. It looks gorgeous and well-made, like it’s…” you trailed off, unable to both find the right words and to contain your excitement and gratitude. The craftsmanship was impeccable, each stitch a testament to her skill and dedication. You moved to hug her, and she was surprised for a second before wrapping her arms around you warmly. Her embrace was comforting, and you could feel the genuine affection she held for you.

“Why don’t you go try it on and see what it looks like?” she suggested, her eyes sparkling. She pointed you to the bathroom in her apartment where you could change, her expression one of encouraging support. You carefully took the dress, handling it with the utmost care as you walked to the bathroom. The soft fabric felt luxurious under your fingers, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of reverence for the garment. Slipping out of your clothes, you delicately put on the dress, feeling the fabric glide smoothly over your skin. It enveloped you in its lightness and grace and fit perfectly, as if it had been made just for you. Well, in a literal context, it was, but right now it felt deeper than that.

As you looked at yourself in the small bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but smile. When you were ready, you headed back to where Madame Dupont was waiting. You stepped into the room with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, twirling around so she could see the dress in motion. The fabric swirled around you, catching the light in a way that made the lace details shimmer. “Does it look good?” you asked, your voice bubbling with excitement.

Madame Dupont’s eyes shone with pride and satisfaction. “Good? Oh, dear, it looks perfect,” she said, her tone filled with warmth. “You look like a model already.”

“Really?” you asked, your heart swelling with happiness and disbelief. The compliment meant the world to you, especially coming from someone as experienced as Madame Dupont.

“Go look at yourself in the mirror,” she urged, pointing to the full-body length mirror on her wall. You walked over to it, anticipation building with each step. As you stood in front of it and took in your reflection, you nearly squealed with delight. The dress was everything you had hoped for and more. It accentuated your presence, making you feel confident and beautiful. Even though you had worn styled outfits before, you had never felt so much like yourself until now. The dress felt so... you. It was as if it had been made not just for your body, but for your spirit.

The color palette complemented your essence perfectly, and the off-shoulder neckline highlighted your graceful aura. The lace details were delicate and intricate, adding a touch of sophistication and elegance. As you moved, the fabric flowed around you effortlessly, making you feel as though you were gliding. You felt like some sort of a princess from a fantasy movie, like you were living a faded childhood dream.

“Thank you so much, Madame Dupont,” you said, turning to her with a grateful smile. Your eyes were, once more, filled with tears of joy and appreciation, but you held them back, not wanting to ruin the moment. “I can’t wait for the casting tomorrow.”

Madame Dupont walked over to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’ll do wonderfully, dear,” she assured you, her voice filled with reassurance. “Now, get some rest. Tomorrow is your big day.”

—

It’s now the day you’ve been waiting for. You woke up a few minutes earlier than your alarm, and a mix of nerves and excitement buzzed through you. Deciding to reach out to your parents for some much-needed encouragement, you initiate a video call. Almost immediately, they pick up, and you’re greeted with their wide smiles, their eyes twinkling with anticipation.

“Good morning!” your mother exclaims, her voice warm and cheerful. “Morning, darling!” your father echoes, his tone equally enthusiastic.

You can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. “You two seem livelier than usual,” you say, raising an eyebrow playfully. Had they woken up long ago?

Your mother laughs softly. “Well, we can’t help it, especially since it’s your big day today.”

“Have you been waiting for me to call you the whole time?” you tease, a grin spreading across your face. It wasn’t entirely out of character for them to do such a thing. After all, they never fail to show their anticipation when it comes to you finally reaching everything you aim to achieve.

“How could we not?” your father replies, chuckling. “We’re just as excited as you are, if not more.”

Their excitement is infectious, and it eases some of your nervousness. Remembering the dress Madame Dupont made for you, you suddenly feel a surge of both pride and excitement. “Oh, wait right there,” you say, standing up from your bed. “I want to show you what I’ll be wearing today.”

You prop the phone on your desk and walk over to your closet. Carefully, you retrieve the dress from its hanger and hold it up to the camera. The intricate lace details, the soft pastel hues, and the delicate off-shoulder design all come together to create a masterpiece. Your mother gasps in delight. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s beautiful! It fits you and your vibe perfectly.”

Your father nods, his eyes twinkling with approval. “It looks stunning. That dress seems like it was made for you, huh?” he joked, but had his jaw nearly get dropped when you nodded in confirmation. “Wait, it was?”

“Yup. My landlord offered to sew it for me,” you explained, holding the dress closer to the camera to show them the hidden details. “Look at how well-crafted it is. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Once you saw them smiling and nodding and approval, you felt yourself become satisfied. You then carefully place the dress back on the hanger and return it to your closet. Sitting down again, you feel a bit more relaxed but still slightly anxious. “I’m still so nervous, though,” you admit, looking down at your hands.

Your parents exchange a knowing glance before turning their supportive gazes back to you. “Nerves are normal,” your father reassures you. “Just remember how hard you’ve worked to get here. You deserve this opportunity.”

“And no matter what happens and however things turn out, we are incredibly proud of you,” your mother adds. “Just go out there and be yourself. Show them the wonderful person we know you are.”

“I’ll do my best to keep that in mind.” You smile at them, then glance at the digital clock on your bedside table and realize it’s time to start getting ready. “I should probably start getting ready now,” you say, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement building up inside you.

“Good luck, sweetheart. We love you,” your mother says, blowing you a kiss through the screen as your father holds a thumbs-up to the camera.

“I love you both,” you reply, your voice softening with affection. “Thank you for always being there for me.” With a final wave, you end the call. Their words of encouragement echo in your mind, giving you the strength and confidence you need to face the day ahead. The nerves were still there—you’re entirely convinced they’re never gonna go away at this point, but compared to before, you’re pretty sure you’ve gained enough confidence for the casting right now.

Just as you were about to stand up and begin your morning routine, your phone, which you now laid down on your desk’s surface, rang with the sound of a message notification. Picking it up, a smile graces your lips as you read Seonghwa’s contact number.

Good morning! Today’s the day. Hope you still remember?

You let out a soft laugh of amusement. For the past few days, it’s been Seonghwa’s thing to keep in check with you and make sure you were still up for the casting. It was funny yet also endearing how he seems to really want you to attend. Did you really hold that much potential in his eyes? Whether you’ll get accepted or not would be the answer.

Can’t say I don’t.

I blame my constant palpitations on the casting, actually.

From the other side of the screen, there was Seonghwa, lounging on his office chair while he was occupied with both paperwork and conversing with you. He’s well aware he’s probably coming off way too paranoid by reminding you of the casting nearly everyday, but you were just a diamond in the rough he couldn’t afford to let escape from his grasp. Not when you have so much potential he could make the best out of.

Oops. Sorry… not sorry?

Also, I know I’m asking this a bit too late but

Can I ask what your name is?

You let out a hum of surprise. He hasn’t asked for that yet? Although you were sure you’d already mentioned your name to him at some point… Well, he wouldn’t be asking you this question had the truth been on your side, so maybe your memory’s deceiving you. After nearly a minute of contemplating, your fingers tapped the letters of your name on the keyboard, soon then sending it. His response caught you by surprise.

Even your name is pretty!

It’s also really cool :)

Chuckling, you quickly typed out a response—you still needed to get ready, after all.

You think so?

Thanks, Seonghwa.

Also, no emoji!

With that, you turned off your phone, placing it back on your desk before standing up and stepping into the shower. The day has yet to begin.

Meanwhile, Seonghwa, who is in his office on one of the higher floors of the building, stood up from his chair, stretching his arms above his head as he walked over to the large window. The view of the street below reveals a growing line of aspiring models, each one buzzing with anticipation. Some of them were personally casted by him, while others came on their own, drawn by the promise of a new opportunity. Despite their different paths, they all share the same goal: to make a name for themselves in the world of fashion.

As Seonghwa observes the scene, he can’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness. The casting is a significant event, not just for the models but for him as well. It’s a chance to discover fresh talent and bring new faces to the forefront of the industry. Just then, the door to his office swings open with a loud bang, and Wooyoung bursts in, his voice booming with enthusiasm. “Rise and shine! Get up, buttercup!” he exclaims, far too loudly for the early hour. Seonghwa turns around, raising an eyebrow in mild annoyance.

“Wooyoung, it’s not even past late morning hours yet and yet you’re already causing a scene. Must you be so loud right now?” he scolds, picking up a folder—again—and pretending to throw it at him.

Wooyoung laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll keep it down,” he says, a grin plastered on his face. He doesn’t wait for an invitation and immediately lounges in Seonghwa’s chair, spinning around like a child.

Seonghwa just sighs, shaking his head as he turns back to the window. “You’re incorrigible,” he mutters under his breath, though there’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

After nearly ten dizzying spins, Wooyoung finally stops, looking a bit green. “Okay, that was a bad idea,” he mumbles to himself. He then drags the chair, wheels squeaking, over to where Seonghwa stands. Both of them look down at the line of hopefuls below.

“There’s a lot of them, huh?” Wooyoung muses, more to himself than to Seonghwa. “I can’t wait to see which ones will get in. It’s not up to me anyway, so I’ll just be watching from the sidelines with you, Hongjoong, and the casting directors.”

Seonghwa nods slightly, still gazing at the scene outside. “It’s always interesting to see who stands out,” he says quietly. “Each one of them has something unique to offer. It’s just a matter of seeing who can bring that uniqueness to life on the runway.”

Wooyoung hums in agreement, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare moment of contemplation. “Do you think any of them will surprise us?” he asks, glancing at Seonghwa.

“Always,” Seonghwa replies, a small smile appearing on his lips. “That’s the beauty of these castings. You never know who will walk through those doors and leave a lasting impression.”

Wooyoung leans back in the chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “Y’know, I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be in their shoes,” he says thoughtfully. “The nerves, the excitement, the pressure. It must be intense.”

“It truly is. We can only go as far as we can imagine,” Seonghwa agrees. “But that’s what makes it all the more rewarding. When they eventually succeed in their path and walk down those runways and see the admiration in the audience’s eyes, it’s all worth it.”

“Speaking of which, have you seen Hongjoong this morning?” Wooyoung asks, changing the subject. “He still seemed pretty down last night about his sketchbook when I took him out to eat.”

Seonghwa sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, he’s been really stressed about it. That sketchbook means a lot to him. Apparently, according to him, losing it feels like losing a part of himself.”

Wooyoung nods sympathetically. “I get that. I just hope he can find it or at least come to terms with it. He’s got so much talent, so it would really be a shame for something like this to hold him back.” He leans back in the chair, still gazing at the line of aspiring models outside. “So, about the girl from Rue de la Paix,” he begins, a hint of curiosity in his voice. “Did you ever get her name?”

Seonghwa glances over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly. “I did,” he replies cautiously.

“And what is it?” Wooyoung asks, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Why do you need to know that?” Seonghwa counters, turning fully to face his friend. There’s a playful yet protective edge to his tone, as if he’s guarding a precious secret. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to let Wooyoung know your name, he just liked to tease the younger man often.

Wooyoung shrugs, a nonchalant smile on his face. “I’m just curious. I want to know which one of the models attending today’s casting is her.”

Seonghwa doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walks back to his desk, his mind clearly made up about not divulging the information. Wooyoung, undeterred, struggles with the chair’s wheels as he attempts to follow. The squeaky protest of the wheels against the floor echoes in the spacious office.

“Are you not telling me because it’s confidential, or because you just don’t want to?” Wooyoung presses, finally managing to maneuver the chair closer to Seonghwa’s desk—not before nearly stumbling over and falling down to the ground face-flat first.

“A little bit of both,” Seonghwa admits with a shrug, his lips curling into a faint smile. Wooyoung groans dramatically, leaning back in the chair with exaggerated disappointment. Seonghwa watches him with amusement, shaking his head slightly.

“Come on, Hwa,” Wooyoung whines. “Just a hint?”

Seonghwa’s smile widens, and he leans forward, resting his hands on his desk. “I’ll make sure to tell you when it’s her turn at the casting,” he says, a glint of teasing in his eyes.

Wooyoung instantly brightens at this, sitting up straight. “Really? You promise?”

“Promise,” Seonghwa confirms, patting Wooyoung on the back. “Now, get off my chair before I throw you out the window.”

Wooyoung laughs, pushing himself out of the chair with exaggerated reluctance. “Fine, fine. But I’m holding you to that promise,” he says, wagging a finger at Seonghwa.

Seonghwa chuckles, shaking his head as he watches Wooyoung retreat. “You truly are insufferable,” he mutters, though there’s a fondness in his voice that betrays his words.

Wooyoung winks at him, making his way to the door. “And don’t you forget it!”

As Wooyoung leaves, Seonghwa turns back to the window, watching as the line outside continues to grow. The anticipation is electric, each model radiating a mix of nerves and excitement. Today was going to be a significant day, not just for them, but for him as well. Eventually, he decided to settle back into his chair. The morning sun streamed through the glass walls, casting a warm glow over his sleek, modern workspace. He reached for the stack of portfolios on his desk, each one representing the dreams and ambitions of aspiring models.

He flipped open the first portfolio, revealing the work of Kara. Her portfolio was meticulously organized, with high-quality photographs showcasing her versatility. Kara had a striking look, with an elegant poise that shone through in every image. Her resume detailed her extensive experience in runway shows and high-fashion editorials. She had a background in ballet, which explained her graceful movements and impeccable posture. Seonghwa nodded in appreciation, noting her potential for the upcoming show.

The next portfolio belonged to Connor. His photos exuded a cool, polished charm. Connor’s piercing gaze and chiseled features made him a standout in the world of male modeling. His portfolio included a range of styles, from casual streetwear to sophisticated suits. Seonghwa noticed a particular emphasis on tech-inspired fashion, which intrigued him. Connor’s resume revealed his background in acting, adding another layer of depth to his modeling skills. Seonghwa could see Connor’s potential for both the runway and more conceptual shoots.

The third portfolio was that of Markus. His images radiated a raw, magnetic energy. Markus had a unique look, with a rugged edge that set him apart. His portfolio showcased a variety of high-impact editorial shots, where his powerful presence commanded attention. Seonghwa admired Markus’s ability to convey intense emotions through his eyes and body language. His resume highlighted his involvement in various social justice campaigns, which added a sense of purpose to his modeling career. Seonghwa made a mental note of Markus's potential for more provocative, statement-making pieces.

After thoroughly examining these portfolios, Seonghwa finally reached yours, which you had given to him yesterday. He opened it carefully, revealing a collection of images that immediately caught his eye. Your portfolio was a blend of ethereal elegance and down-to-earth charm. The photographs showcased a range of styles, from flowing, delicate dresses to modern, structured outfits. Each image highlighted your ability to adapt to different looks while maintaining a unique, captivating aura. Your resume, though less extensive than some of the others, reflected a genuine passion for modeling and a determination to make your mark in the industry.

Just then, Seonghwa’s phone buzzed with a message. He glanced at the screen and saw it was from you, asking if the casting had started yet and letting him know you were on your way. As if on cue, there was a knock on his door. One of the casting directors poked their head in, informing him that it’s about to begin before leaving shortly after.

It’s about to.

Why? Are you not here yet?

He then closed your portfolio with a thoughtful smile and slipped his phone into the pocket of his tailored pants. Rising from his chair, he made his way to the casting area, anticipation building within him. Once he reached his destination, he settled into a seat in the middle of Wooyoung and Hongjoong, along with a few other casting directors. The room buzzed with anticipation, a mix of excited chatter and the occasional nervous glance from the models waiting their turn.

As Seonghwa sat down, Wooyoung turned to him and Hongjoong with a playful grin. “Big day, right? Always exciting to see who might be the next big star.”

Hongjoong nodded in agreement, already expecting a lot for the day. “We’ve got a solid line-up today. I’m looking forward to seeing how they perform. It’s one thing to look good in photos and another to command the runway.”

Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, taking in the room’s energy. “You’re on point with that. It’s all about presence. You can tell a lot about a model by how they carry themselves.”

The casting director to Hongjoong’s left chimed in. “And it’s not just about walking. It’s the confidence, the ability to connect with the audience. We’re looking for someone who can truly bring the clothes to life.”

As they continued discussing their expectations and hopes for the casting, Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa. “By the way, is she here yet? The girl you casted in Rue de la Paix?”

Seonghwa took out his phone and read a recent message from you saying you were nearly there. He quickly typed a response, telling you to hurry, then put his phone away. “Almost. She’s on her way.”

The casting then began, each model stepping onto the runway with varying degrees of confidence. The first model moved with a fluid grace that was captivating. Her steps were measured, her posture impeccable, and the way she carried herself spoke volumes of her experience. The casting directors exchanged approving glances, making notes on their tablets.

Next was a male model whose cool, polished demeanor immediately caught the eye. His walk was deliberate, every movement exuding a calm, collected energy. The way he held himself, with just the right amount of charisma, showcased his versatility. He had a way of engaging with the audience, making each person feel as though he was walking just for them.

A third model brought a raw, magnetic presence to the runway. Her movements were powerful, almost theatrical, each step filled with purpose. The intensity in her eyes and the confident sway of her shoulders commanded attention, leaving a lasting impression on everyone watching. Seonghwa exchanged a look with Hongjoong, both clearly impressed.

Meanwhile, you were doing your best to hurry to the building without ending up looking disheveled. You reached the entrance, slightly out of breath, and quickly took out your phone to text Seonghwa, asking how to get to the casting area. Seonghwa received the notification and sighed in relief upon reading your message, quickly giving you directions. Inside, you found the waiting room and were relieved to see there were still three models in line before you. You took advantage of the time, lounging in the waiting room to catch your breath and fix yourself up. The anticipation built up as you watched the other models go, each with their unique style and presence.

Finally, it was your turn. As you stepped onto the runway, you felt a mix of nerves and excitement. The room seemed to hold its breath, and you could feel all eyes on you. You nearly let go of your resolve and began considering running away, but you couldn’t back down now, so even if the feeling of being perceived almost felt like claws scratching on your skin, you did all you can to hold out.

The dress Madame Dupont had crafted for you flowed elegantly with each step, its delicate lace details catching the light perfectly. You took a deep breath, centering yourself. Every step you took was purposeful, your head held high, shoulders back. You envisioned the path before you, focusing on exuding the confidence and grace you had practiced. Each stride was smooth, the fabric of your dress fluttering lightly with your movement, giving an ethereal quality to your walk. Your thoughts raced, reminding yourself to maintain your pace and rhythm. You could see the faces of the casting directors, their expressions ranging from curiosity to intrigue. This was your moment, and you intended to make it count.

Seonghwa then nudged Wooyoung, a proud expression on his face. “That’s her,” he said quietly.

Wooyoung turned, his mouth slightly ajar. “That’s her?” He watched you intently, a look of amazement on his face. Seonghwa nodded, proud of himself for recognizing your potential.

Hongjoong, however, seemed lost in thought. “That dress…” he whispered to himself, drawing Seonghwa’s attention.

“See? I told you she’d meet your expectations. Seems the casting directors are already fond of her as well,” Seonghwa said, pointing out how everyone else in the room seemed to have been quite intrigued.

Hongjoong shook his head slightly, “No, that’s not what I…” he trailed off, giving up and deciding to refocus himself on studying the way you moved with a unique sense of confidence he’s certain he hasn’t felt from the others who had just walked the runway you were currently standing on.

You finished your walk and stood at the end of the runway, awaiting feedback. One of the casting directors leaned forward, a warm smile on her lips. “That was quite impressive. Your walk exudes a natural grace, and you have a unique ability to connect with the audience. The way you carried that dress was truly captivating.”

Another casting director nodded in agreement. “Yes, I felt a sense of authenticity in your presence. It’s clear you’re not just walking; you’re telling a story. That’s a rare quality. Not to mention, your versatility is evident. You managed to make the dress come alive, which is exactly what we’re looking for. Your movements were fluid and expressive, and you conveyed an emotion that’s essential for our brand. We need someone who can bring that kind of depth and dimension to the runway.”

Seonghwa exchanged a satisfied glance with Wooyoung and Hongjoong. You had not only met but exceeded their expectations. As you stood there, absorbing the positive feedback, you felt a surge of confidence and pride, knowing that you had made a significant impression on the casting directors. You gave a polite nod and a soft “Thank you,” before turning away from the bright lights of the runway, and beginning your walk backstage. Your heart was pounding with a mix of relief and elation. The backstage area was a hive of activity, with models, assistants, and staff bustling around. You carefully navigated through the crowd, making your way to the waiting room.

Once inside, you found a quiet corner to gather your thoughts. The adrenaline from the casting still coursed through your veins, but you took a moment to breathe deeply, allowing yourself to fully process what had just happened. You have done it. You had walked the runway, presented yourself confidently, and received positive feedback from the casting directors.

Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and the casting directors gathered in a sleek, modern conference room for a debriefing discussion. The walls were lined with mood boards, sketches, and photos from the day's casting. The atmosphere was filled with a mixture of excitement and anticipation as they reviewed the day’s candidates. Wooyoung, the brand’s vibrant and beloved photographer, sat among them. Though he wasn’t technically supposed to be part of these discussions, his charm and keen eye for detail, and, not to mention, how nearly everyone in the workspace was fond of him, had earned him a permanent spot at the table.

“Let’s start with the first model,” one of the casting directors said, flipping open a portfolio. “She had a strong walk and a striking presence. Her portfolio shows a lot of versatility. What do we think?”

Seonghwa nodded, glancing at the portfolio. “She definitely has potential. Her editorial shots are impressive, and she seemed confident on the runway.”

“Agreed,” another casting director added. “Her look is unique, and she knows how to carry herself.” They then moved on to the next model. “This one had a great energy,” they noted. “Her poses were dynamic, and she really engaged with the camera.”

“Yes,” Seonghwa said, smiling. “She has a lot of charisma. I think she’d be fantastic for some of our more lively, energetic campaigns.”

Wooyoung, lounging casually in his chair, chimed in, “I agree. She’d be a lot of fun to shoot. She has that spark.” As the discussion continued, they went through the portfolios and runway performances of several models, each time delving into detailed critiques and praises. They talked about their physical attributes, their runway presence, and their potential fit within the brand’s vision.

Finally, Seonghwa brought up your performance. “So, what do we think about the last model?” he asked, his eyes bright with anticipation.

One of the casting directors leaned forward, her eyes lighting up. “She was remarkable. Her walk was graceful, and she had an ethereal quality that was hard to ignore. Not to mention, her portfolio shows a lot of promise. She has this natural elegance that really stood out.”

Seonghwa’s smile grew wider with each positive comment, nodding in agreement with all of them. The casting director sitting across Seonghwa then noticed his growing smile and asked, “Do you know her personally by any chance?”

Seonghwa shook his head, still smiling. “No, but I met her at Rue de la Paix a while ago and persuaded her to attend today. I had a feeling she’d be a good fit.”

“Well, we’re glad you did that,” another director said, nodding in approval. “She definitely has potential.”

While the group was busy discussing, Hongjoong, who had been silent the entire time, was snapped out of his thoughts when Seonghwa nudged his shoulder lightly. “Hey, what’s on your mind? You look lost,” Seonghwa pointed out.

Hongjoong shook his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. “No, nothing,” he said, standing up. “I need to go to the restroom for a moment.”

As Hongjoong left, Wooyoung turned to Seonghwa, eyebrows raised. “What’s up with him?”

Seonghwa shrugged, equally confused. “No idea.”

Instead of heading to the bathroom, Hongjoong made his way to the waiting room. He knocked twice before entering and was greeted with the sight of you sitting in a corner, looking slightly nervous but composed. You immediately recognized him from the runway and sat up straight, greeting him politely.

You took a moment to take in his appearance and demeanor, noting the serene confidence he exuded. His features were striking, with a sharp jawline and expressive eyes that seemed to see right through you. His aura was both commanding and comforting, a perfect balance for a creative visionary. Yet above it all, one thing’s for sure—he was strikingly gorgeous. Is this how it feels being in an 80’s romance movie and seeing your love interest for the first time?

He then broke the silence by greeting you with a warm smile and introduced himself as the Creative Director of the brand. Upon this newfound information, you felt both nervous and excited as he held out his hand for you to shake. His grip was firm yet gentle, and you could feel the sincerity in his touch.

“You don’t need to introduce yourself,” he said, cutting you off gently just as he sensed you were about to speak. “Seonghwa has already told me quite a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope?” You tilted your head, a playful expression on your face as you attempted to both lighten the mood further and relax your spirits. Fortunately on your behalf, the comment was enough to make him laugh.

“All good things, don’t worry,” he played along, easing your nerves. “I wasn’t able to give feedback along with the casting directors earlier, so I figured I’d do it now. You did an excellent job out there. Your walk was graceful, and you have a natural elegance that's very captivating.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the praise. “Oh, really? Thank you so much. That means a lot to me."

“Don’t thank me. You should be thanking yourself for being able to exude such an exceptional aura.” He smiled, then continued, “It’s up to the casting directors to decide who will be getting callbacks, but I’ll make sure to convince them to include you in the list—just in case. Though, from what I’ve seen, I’m quite certain they’re already planning on it.”

You felt a surge of gratitude and excitement. “Thank you again, really. I appreciate it.”

He cleared his throat, glancing at his watch. “I should probably get going. But before I leave, I just wanted to say it was a pleasure meeting you.”

As he turned to leave, he paused at the door and looked back. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, but my name is Kim Hongjoong,” he said before glancing at your widened eyes and gently shutting the door behind him, leaving you nearly paralyzed.

Kim Hongjoong?

The exact same name written on the sketchbook you accidentally took home with you on your first day in Paris?

Your thoughts began to swirl into a maelstrom of worry. How could this be happening? Not only did you have a renowned creative director’s sketchbook in your hands, but this very same creative director worked under the agency whose casting you had just attended. The coincidence was almost too much to bear. What if he found out you had his sketchbook? What if he thought you had stolen it?

Your mind raced with all the possible repercussions. You envisioned Hongjoong, upon discovering the mystery behind the missing sketchbook, being livid and assuming the worst of you. It might look as if you had tried to take his work for yourself or pry into his creative processes—which wasn’t exactly a far-fetched assumption, but that’s what makes things even worse on your behalf... It could certainly jeopardize your career before it even had a chance to start. He might inform the casting directors, and they could blacklist you from any future opportunities. The thought alone sent chills down your spine.

And then there was Seonghwa. You could picture his disappointment and frustration. He had gone out of his way to persuade you to attend this casting, believing in your potential. How would he react if he found out about the sketchbook? He might think you were careless or irresponsible. You had been so excited about this opportunity, but now it felt like it was slipping through your fingers due to a misunderstanding.

The weight of the situation was heavy, making it hard to breathe. You wondered how you were going to sort this out. Should you go to Hongjoong immediately and explain? But what if he didn’t believe you? What if he thought it was just a convenient excuse? The thought of facing him, knowing what you knew now, was daunting. But then, what other option did you have?

Your mind kept circling back to the same questions. How could you have known that the man whose sketchbook you had mistakenly taken would turn out to be so crucial to your career? You replayed the events of that night over and over, trying to pinpoint how things had gone so awry. It had been an innocent mistake, yet the consequences seemed potentially devastating. What if this one mistake ruined everything you had worked so hard for? What if your dreams of becoming a model in Paris ended before they could truly begin? The uncertainty of the future loomed over you like a dark cloud, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

It didn’t help that the outfit you wore was inspired by one of what’s now revealed to be Hongjoong’s sketches. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. Could that be the reason he had gone out of his way to approach you here? You tried to convince yourself it was just a coincidence, that he had been too genuine while complimenting you earlier for it to be otherwise. But the doubt lingered, gnawing at your mind.

A fashion designer of Hongjoong’s caliber would undoubtedly recognize his own creations. There was no way he wouldn’t. Did he already know? If he did, wouldn’t he have addressed it immediately? But then again, what if he was waiting for the right moment? Perhaps he wanted to see if you would chase after him the moment he told you his name and bring it up yourself. The uncertainty made your stomach churn.

You recalled the way he had looked at you, the intensity in his eyes. It wasn’t just the usual scrutiny of a casting director. There was something more, something you couldn’t quite place. Was it curiosity? Or was it simply professional interest in a potential model? Each possibility seemed equally plausible, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it.

What if he had recognized the dress immediately but chose not to say anything? Maybe he was testing you, waiting to see if you would come forward with the truth. The thought made your heart race. You felt caught in a web of your own making, the threads tightening around you with each passing moment. How could you possibly explain the situation without it sounding like an excuse or a lie?

Your thoughts spiraled further into confusion and anxiety. If he knew about the sketchbook, what did he think of you? Did he believe you were trying to pass off his design as your own? That was far from the truth, but would he give you the chance to explain? The idea of being misunderstood by someone so pivotal to your career was terrifying.

And then there was the matter of the compliments he had given you. They seemed genuine, heartfelt even. But now you couldn’t help but question their sincerity. Had he been playing a part, trying to lure you into a false sense of security before confronting you? Or were his words truly a reflection of his professional opinion, unaffected by the sketchbook debacle? The more you thought about it, the more tangled your emotions became. You felt a mix of admiration and fear toward Hongjoong. Admiration for his undeniable talent and fear of his potential judgment. His opinion held immense weight, and the possibility of disappointing him was almost unbearable.

You wondered if you should come clean about the sketchbook before he had a chance to bring it up. But the timing seemed impossible. How could you just casually walk up to him and confess to accidentally taking his sketchbook like it wasn’t most likely a treasured item of his? And what if, by some slim chance, he really hadn’t noticed the dress’s origins? You would be drawing unnecessary attention to it, possibly creating an issue where there was none.

Your thoughts were a chaotic swirl of what-ifs and maybes. Each scenario you envisioned seemed fraught with peril. The fear of ruining your budding career loomed large, casting a shadow over your every thought. The dress, which had felt like a beacon of hope earlier, now felt like a burden, an uncomfortable fabric attaching itself on the surface of your skin, a reminder of the precarious position you found yourself in.

You wished you could go back to that moment in the cafe, to the moment before you had mistakenly picked up the wrong sketchbook. But there was no undoing what had been done. All you could do now was navigate the consequences, no matter how daunting they seemed. Your worries wouldn’t leave you alone and it definitely doesn’t seem like they were planning to anytime soon—an unrelenting presence that made it hard to think straight. You felt a deep sense of dread at the thought of facing Hongjoong again. What would you say? Would you even be able to see him again, that is?

The moment Hongjoong opened the conference room door, he saw that no one was there anymore. The room was eerily silent, and the chairs were neatly pushed under the table. He realized he had taken too long and the debriefing session had ended without him. Letting out a sigh, he decided to head back up to his office.

As he stepped into the room, he was greeted by an unfortunately familiar yet chaotic sight: Wooyoung was laughing loudly while being pushed around in Hongjoong’s chair by Seonghwa. The sight of Seonghwa struggling to control the wheeled chair with Wooyoung gleefully directing it like a makeshift chariot brought an exasperated groan from Hongjoong.

Seeing Hongjoong from the corner of his eye, Wooyoung quickly looked at him and pointed at Seonghwa with a mischievous grin. “See? Pushing a shopping cart or a chair can be fun if you put your mind to it!”

Hongjoong sighed in frustration, “Seonghwa, quit feeding into Wooyoung’s antics before one of the wheels falls off my chair.”

Seonghwa, still smiling, immediately complied despite Wooyoung’s whining complaints. Wooyoung reluctantly got off the chair, still chuckling, while Seonghwa straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his hair. As Seonghwa moved the chair back to its rightful place behind Hongjoong’s desk, he asked, “What took you so long anyway? And why do you look so… wow. This is the first time I’ve seen a smile on your face this week.”

Hongjoong, now sitting on the couch, shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just happy about the results of today’s casting.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “That’s like, really strange, because I’m sure you had a bothered look when you stepped outside of the conference room to go to the restroom. Like, really bothered.” Before Hongjoong could respond, Wooyoung continued with another question, “Speaking of, what took you so long anyway?”

Hongjoong leaned back, looking at Wooyoung with a raised eyebrow. “It’s none of your business.”

“You can’t just—” Wooyoung cut himself off, taken aback for a moment, then considered Hongjoong’s words. He finally nodded and said, “Yeah, you’re right, that’s... definitely not my business.”

Seonghwa, still curious, turned to Hongjoong, “Seriously though, what’s got you in a better mood?”

Hongjoong glanced at Seonghwa, then looked out the window thoughtfully. “I just had a moment of clarity, I guess. Today’s casting was better than I expected.”

Seonghwa nodded slowly, not entirely convinced but willing to let it go for now. “Well, that’s good to hear. We did see some promising talent.”

Hongjoong’s mind wandered back to the casting, especially the way you had walked down the runway with such grace and confidence. There was something about you that stood out, something he couldn’t quite place but felt drawn to nonetheless. The memory of your performance brought a subtle smile to his lips. Wooyoung, sensing there was more to Hongjoong’s mood shift, couldn’t help but press a little further. “Come on, there’s gotta be more to it than that. Did something happen when you stepped out?”

Hongjoong shook his head, maintaining his composed demeanor. “Just appreciating the talent we saw today, Wooyoung. Nothing more.”

Wooyoung shrugged, realizing he wouldn’t get more out of Hongjoong for now. “Alright, if you say so. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

All Hongjoong could do was smile. “I’ll be keeping an eye out there, too. Not on you, though.”

🪞 — lividstar.

[ask-ganondorf]

Ask Ganondorf!: The "About Page"

[[Welcome to "Ask Ganondorf", a Legend of Zelda-themed askblog formerly exclusive to Cohost! This is the post where I do a little promoting and explain a few things. This is the mod speaking; I hope you enjoy your visit here, and don't forget to leave a message before you go~!]]

[[Continue below the cut for more information...]]

[[This is an old-fashioned character askblog, the kind that was popular on here about a decade ago. Want to ask Ganondorf something? Go right ahead! You don't even need to be a LoZ fan. An askblog lives and dies by audience interaction, so when in doubt... just send whatever ask you want! Don't be scared of the idea that someone else may have already asked what's on your mind, anonymous asks are enabled in case you're feeling shy or private. I don't mind "spam like"s, comments, or reblogs, either. You can ask the mod (me) things as well if you really want! Lore, clarifications, headcanons, boundaries... though some things may be left vague until the point where you can get the information out of Ganondorf himself, heheh...]]

[[This askblog is migrating from Cohost because of Cohost shutting down at the end of 2024. I never got much following there, but Cohost's more lax content/artwork guidelines shall be sorely missed. I am going to gradually cross-post what asks I did manage to answer on the original Cohost edition; I shall also try and go through the unanswered asks I have left over in the Cohost inbox and answer them here, in kindness and sadness...]]

[[The desktop theme of this blog is currently under heavy construction. Be patient, an evil king's castle can't be built overnight~!]]

[[The "timeline" and exact time this blog takes place in is intentionally left vague, but is very much Ocarina of Time-inspired at least in terms of aesthetics. This may change as the blog evolves and builds more interactions. It's also quite headcanon-heavy (as it must be, since Ganondorf gets so little deeper exploration in canon...), so prepare for lots of fun with that! I'm also open to old RP/ask blog community staples such as magic anons, special events, prompts, themed starters, etc... Again, don't be too afraid to try sending messages yourself! One last thing to bear in mind, however...]]

[[I am NOT the character featured on this blog. Views expressed in-character are not necessarily shared or intended to be promotion.]]

[[Some content on this blog may become "dark" given the villainous focus. This askblog is not recommended for children and certain posts may be marked 18+. Please discern fiction from reality and avoid assuming malicious or dangerous authorial intent. Message me directly if you require clarification, triggers tagged, or content warnings applied.]]

[[All that said, have fun! This post may expand in the future to something like a FAQ, and will remain pinned until I create proper subpages.]]

[[As for all that you really need to know about me, the moderator, personally...]]

[vcmicroficmay]

Prompts for #VCMicroficMay

Text Prompts and Rules Under the Cut! Please fee free to message us with questions.

Prompts for the week will also be posted each week as a reminder. Please share and happy writing!

And please follow this blog so you don't miss updates, reminders, and all of the great short fic!

Week of May 4 (Week 1) Sleep Protect Inexplicable Necessary

Week of May 11 (Week 2) Rancid Melancholy Sunlight Uncouth

Week of May 18 (Week 3) Surrender Inebriated Crimson Fortune

Week of May 25 (Week 4) Whisper Performance Denial Spellbound

Bonus Prompts (for any week!) Fashion Technology Fate

Event Rules

Entries should aim to be between 100 words to 1000 words, though no one is going to be counting and it’s fine to go a little over (or under!)

Works can be inspired by The Vampire Chronicles books, the IwtV movie, the AMC show, the musical, whatever.

Late entries are great!! Creativity doesn’t work on a schedule. We appreciate your fic no matter when it appears.

You can post your work on Tumblr, AO3, or wherever you post fic and link to it from Tumblr. We will have a collection on AO3 you will be able to add your work to as well.

Please @ us at "@vcmicroficmay" and/or tag your post "#vcmicroficmay" so we can find your fic and share. Feel free to message us if you think we've missed your post!

Please consider sharing and commenting on other people’s entries as that’s part of the fun!

[telekinetictrait]

God help us – for art is long and life is short! (Faust: First Part, written by Johann Wolfgang Goethe and published in 1808)

hiiii heres the first part of what will (hopefully!!!) be a series of western women's fashion from 1800 to today. obviously, not all women looked like this or dressed like this. in fact, most didn't - these are largely going to be looks worn by women of a higher socioeconomic class, at least until maybe the 1880s. this is for a few reasons, mostly being, uh... availability of cc. i'd love to MAKE some historical cc but my laptop won't run blender. another reason is that the fashion of the upper classes is typically better recorded than that of lower classes, especially before the advent and popularization of photography. i'm just rambling now.

anyway! the first part: 1800-1809. we see the opulence of the georgians cling onto fashion in bows, feathers, and jewels. we also see the rise of waistlines to the iconic empire waist, and the influences of neoclassical aesthetics in fashion. hairstyles in particular were emulating those of the ancient greeks, also pulling a bit from the stuarts. this decade also allows me to share one of my favorite tidbits of fashion history: the coiffure à la titus! for a short time in the 1790s through the 1810s, some women (french women especially) took to cutting their hair short and choppy. the reasons range from inspiration taken from a popular play at the time, to symbolizing solidarity with women executed via guillotine. some men at the time thought that having short hair was actually hazardous to women's health, so while the titus cut wasn't the norm, it was widespread enough to cause quite a storm!

you'll notice that 1806 is missing. that's because the dress i used, uh... completely messed up the arms and i did not notice until i was making the gif. if you wanna see it, it'll be under the cut.

cc links + creator tags under the cut!!

see my resources page!

adelais : clepysdra's padme snail hair / ice-creamforbreakfast's vittoria pendant / hanalinori's morning in the garden dress / oydis' willow armlets / oydis' eloise flats

aelita : plasma-jane's athena hair, updated by my-historical-sims / s-clubs laurel crown (tsr download) / kaguya-fox's nioh oichi hair branch / simsonico's shining nikki shy lady dress conversion / dancemachinetrait's lydia flats

alanis : peebsplays' regency bun / joliebean's joanna earrings / leeleesims1's throw it on accessory wrap / dissia's amy accessory sleeves (tsr download) / zeussims' estrella gown

amalthea : simsonico's shining nikki shy lady headband conversion / mothz's accessory necktie / serenity-cc's accessory frilled turtleneck / sifix's hope dress (tsr download) / simsonico's shining nikki reminiscence of flower fan conversion

anamarija : okruee's cicero hair / pixelunivairse's pearls necklace / gilded-ghosts' bingley gown / maushasi's acc. lace top (search 'lace', accessory included in file) / dancemachinetrait's pemberley gloves / leonalure's transparent priestess scarf or here (REUPLOAD, original download on shady site. leonalure – if you see this and want me to take it down, just let me know!!) / dancemachinetrait's lydia flats

aoide : teanmoon's helen updo / zeussims' dreamer earrings / gilded-ghosts' highbury chemisette / sifix's giselle dress (tsr download) / dancemachinetrait's pemberley gloves

arden : bedisfull's feel my rhythm rose straw hat / izuko's urban animal faux fur scarf / gilded-ghosts' emma gown / dissia's ayiana accessory sleeves (tsr download) / simsonico's shining nikki reminiscence of flower fan conversion / joliebean's satin tip shoes

astrid : sadlydulcet's set 22 hat (search 'set #22') / nightingalesongx's low side bun / simsonico's shining nikki shy lady necklace conversion / dancemachinetrait's pemberley gloves / simsbrush's regency dress / dancemachinetrait's kitty flats

azucena : buzzardly28's gesina hair v2 / magnolianfarewell's venus dress / dustyratt's emma frost cape / dancemachinetrait's pemberley gloves / dancemachinetrait's kitty flats

thanks to @clepysdra @ice-creamforbreakfast @hanalinori @oydis @my-historical-sims @plasma-janes @kaguya-fox @simsonico @dancemachinetrait @peebsplays @joliebean @leeleesims1 @dissiasims @zeussims @serenity-cc @okruee @pixelunivairse @gilded-ghosts @teanmoon @bedisfull @nightingalesongx @simsbrush @buzzardly28 @magnolianfarewell and @dustyratt

(heres the failed 1806)

[avengersassemble123]

Tokyo revengers x desi reader because there aint enough hc and appreciation for us desis/indians. Its majorly based on the new good ending timeline.

PS: I'm majorly writing for female cuz i don't have much experience with male so sorryyy

Desi reader would be sitting inside her bedroom studying, when you'd hear yells and shouts from outside, making you look at the window, and you see a bunch of rando kids in uniforms hanging out and making chaos.

*"Kaise kaise chapri aake baith jaate hai.." You'd murmur

Even when you're in your school, you spot some of em either outside your school or studying in it.

You sometimes curse under your breath when they be creating ruckus at unnecessary stuff. *"Behen ke laude" "Madarchod" "Chutiye" etc.

Ofc you do manage to make friends, and you bring one of em home for studying and hangout, when you again hear them causing a ruckus, making you curse and look outside. you and your friend look out the window, looking at the source of the ruckus. You: I swear these idiots don't have a serious job or work to do asides from this nonsense. Hinata: Oh wait I know them, they're my friends

You: YOU WOT

Hinata calls out to them making them quiet down.

Hinata: can you guys keep it down, my friend and i are studying here. Unknown yellow haired boy: Oh hina? you're here, don't worry we'll keep it down.

You would watch the whole scene play out, flabbergasted, as the yellow goofy haired boy quieted everyone down to bearable volume (which obviously didn't last)

"Hina you know them?" "Oh yea, my boyfriend's in that gang too" "WHAT" Soon Emma joined your study hangouts and you three would chit chat, and unsurprisingly chaos was present outside your house. you got to know some names, but never bothered to remember much except Hina's boyfriend Takemichi and Emma's brothers Mikey and Izana, and her boyfriend Draken.

you guys were busy having a hangout in your house when you heard loud knocks on your door. You opened to see Mikey, Takemichi and Draken standing at the doorstep. In your defense you did ask them what they wanted but they barged into your house.

*OI BHENCHOD what the hell are you doing entering my house like that.*

Soon Emma scolded the boys as Hina apologised to you, making the three boys bow their heads towards you, which you reluctantly accepted.

Much to your dismay or amusement, the three also started hanging around in your house more often whenever Emma and Hina tagged along with you. And then the numbers increased, leading to the new faces of Mitsuya, Hakkai, Pah, Peh, Kazutora, Baji and Chifuyu.

You defo found Baji attractive as hell, but ofc you were in denial, and even if you did accept you aint gonna let him and his ego know.

Soon enough, you literally don't know how, you managed to get invited to their hangouts, get togethers and meetings at times.

Again you did find many people attractive af cough Sanzu, Haitani Brothers, Inui cough cough

when you started to get more comfortable, you got more friendly with them obvio

if they'd ask, you'd share them stories from India and its culture, share the gossips from your relatives and stuff.

Mitsuya would be lot interested in the Indian fashion, and would sometimes ask you questions related to it, may ask your opinions if he made some dress inspired by your culture and maybe even ask you to be a model alongside Hakkai.

You would defo teach them Curse words. No doubt. Maybe not all but enough just so you'd call them some unhinged curse word with a smile, making them either confused or taking it as a compliment.

"Hey (Name)"

"Hey *Laude"

Would maybe invite them over for occasions like Diwali etc. Maybe pack five-six boxes for the whole gang, and an additional box for Mikey.

Baji and Kazutora would burst the crackers with you, no doubt. Besides them you always have Senju, Hina and Emma.

Speaking of senju, you love her. Absolutely love her. You invite her over for anything. Your mom and dad both love her, no questions asked.

Now if we talk about school stuff, Baji, even if he was forced, would have to be tutored by you. (Yea yea the brown kids being the toppers) If you are patient, then good. But if you;re not, then you will become the desi parent which can convert anything into a weapon. But you will make sure he understands the stuff well and clear. Safe to say you do give him a soba treat if his marks improve.

As a desi, you're bound to understand atleast two languages, if not three. You're defo considered a scholar by the entire gang. Ngl it makes your ego boost.

Now if we're talking romance wise,

id imagine a south indian desi reader to be either paired with Mitsuya or Kakucho.

Smiley or Angry would defo go for a Marathi desi reader. i just see it.

Baji would vouch for a Marathi or a punjabi ig.

Ran and Rindou (totally not mentioning them because i love them) would absolutely go for metropolitan type girl, especially a Mumbaikar.

you would defo try out Mehndi on their arms, especially Hakki, Kazutora, Mitsuya and Ran. Kakucho and Chifuyu wouldnt want em but would agree to it begrudgingly (they do end up liking it)

Okay now the best part comes.

The thing, which is the most important for every desi, which is highly valued, is a hearth throb between any Indian, is Cricket.

Now their first encounter with you watching cricket, was interesting to say the least, if not an understatement.

Your parents would be in the living room watching the match, while you would be in your room, hanging out with Hina, Emma, Senju and Yuzuha, when everyone would hear screams of your dad from the living room, as everyone looked at one another before rushing out to the living room, only to see you joining your dad, cheering that Virat Kohli hit a six, while your mom, having slight decency, cheering less excitedly and sheepishly in front of your friends.

Even if you were called to a meetup or some hangout outside with the boys and a match was scheduled that day, you bet your ass you would be watching the match or keeping a live score update in your phone.

Kisaki: Oi (NAME) why do you keep checking your phone?

YOU: Oh its nothing, just checking out the- OH FUCK THAT WAS AN OUT, *KYA KAR RHA HAI YEH???

Every single person in the room would have an heart attack, as they thought something bad had happened, as poor Inui came forward to ask what happened.

HINATA: oh don't worry Inui-san, (NAME)'s just watching the cricket world cup match between India and Pakistan.

From then, if they saw you react like this, they instantly knew what was actually happening. If your favourite player got out, or worst to worst, India lost the match, you'd defo be in the shittiest mood as if you had the worst day, making everyone steer clear from you for the while, as they had already seen what had happened when Peh had once tried messing with you when India had lost the match that day.

Draken: *noticing you watching your phone the whole time today* So what match is it today?

YOU: Its India vs New Zealand. New Zealand made 279 runs, and India made 110 runs so far, with 2 wickets.

MIKEY: wait who were the wickets?

YOU: Rohit Sharma and Ishan Kishan

BAJI: WAIT ROHIT SHARMA GOT OUT???

MITSUYA: Dont worry (NAME) India will win.

PEH: I sure as fuck hope it does.

Now if you're scolding someone, especially to Baji during studies, after a while of scolding and yelling in japanese, a few dialects of your native language come in, before you realising that you have already started roasted and screaming the shit out of him in your language, while that person looked at you dumbfounded but also ashamed slightly.

Youve defo binge watched Bollywood and Tollywood movies with them, especially the girls. And that's all i could think of rn, cuz im having a severe cold and slight temperature. ofc its not exactly that accurate but i just wrote what i thought was the desi dc according to my opinion.

hope yall had fun ;)

[harveyguilleniconodelamoda]

Welcome to Harvey Guillén: Icono de la Moda!

A blog for celebrating the unique style of queer, Latino, plus size fashion icon Harvey Guillén.

Please do not send donation or post boosting requests to this blog. Any such requests should go to my main blog, @darkshrimpemotions.

To explore what's already here, click or tap on the tags on this post! For some explanation on the purpose of the blog and how things are tagged, check under the cut!

About This Blog

Over the last few years, Harvey Guillén has emerged as an important voice in the conversation around inclusivity in fashion, repeatedly making best dressed lists at red carpet events with his bold choices and taking every opportunity to advocate for greater diversity and inclusivity in the fashion world.

Since 2022 he has gone from mostly styling himself for his public appearances (and even for some of his roles!) to having a team of artists dedicated to helping him look his best in the spotlight. Through all of those changes, what remains consistent is the way he ignores the gender- and size-based limitations placed on fashion.

With excellent tailoring, bright prints and colors, bold flashes of skin, and the seamless integration of masculine and feminine details in stunning combinations that go beyond simple androgyny and venture into the realm of joyful, defiant genderfuckery, Harvey's personal style is all about obliterating barriers and inspiring others to do the same.

Here you'll find posts analyzing the costumes of Harvey's most iconic characters such as Guillermo de la Cruz, Cousin Blobbin, Andy from Cursed Friends, and others as his filmography continues to grow! You'll also find deep dives on Harvey's red carpet looks, street style, casual wear, and photoshoots, examinations of recurring motifs in Harvey's personal style, and deep dives on his staple pieces, accessories, and more. Wherever possible, links will be included to the actual clothing items and/or affordable options for similar styles.

Is there a costume, outfit, or staple piece from Harvey's style you'd like to know more about? Feel free to send a request via the ask box!

Tagging Method

All posts are tagged with Harvey's name, "fashion," and a basic category for the occasion/purpose of the featured look(s), and the names of any key designers or brands mentioned within the post.

Posts about Harvey's staple pieces we see over and over are tagged "staple pieces." Any general blogging or research updates are tagged "blog update." Posts featuring brands that have size ranges that include plus sizes are tagged "plus size fashion." Posts focusing on accessories are tagged "accessories" and posts featuring interviews or excerpts from interviews with Harvey are tagged "interviews."

The basic categories I use for the various looks featured here are:

Character Costumes - Costumes worn for/as fictional characters in feature films or scripted series, or BTS photos/footage of in-character outfit options that may or may not appear in the final product.

Photoshoots - Outfits worn in photoshoots.

Red Carpet Looks - Outfits worn to red carpet events, including award shows and film premieres.

Work Attire - Outfits other than character costumes worn to rehearsals, stunt rehearsals, table readings, voice recording sessions, etc.

Street Style - Outfits worn out and about in public, but not to a planned media event.

Casual Wear - Outfits worn to family and friends events in private spaces, i.e. outfits Harvey wears at home (please note - I am only ever sharing these photos here if they were shared publicly on social media and are relevant to the subject of this blog).

TV Appearances - Outfits worn in unscripted or live television appearances, i.e. talk show appearances, guest hosting spots, or Drag Race and other competition reality show guest spots.

Media Event Looks - Outfits worn to planned media events that are not necessarily red carpet events or award shows.

[blvckentropy]

10 facts about me.

Thank you for the tag @beachyserasims! It's always a plus to know more about each other. Let's get deep for a bit

I too have been bullied though out my life. To the point I've wanted to off myself. I think it really only stopped after I went to college, but you know there's always that nagging feeling you get when you think someone talking about you when they either look your way or hear laughing behind you (when it prob has nothing to do with you). The end result I've became more quiet and more attentive with who I get close with or add to my circle. My circle is really rally small. I used to have a of five CLOSE friends but now it's only two (but that's another story)

Writing is really personal for me. It's my out or coping mechanism when dealing or not trying to deal with real-life shit. I might not show it but I'm a depressed reck. But slowly but surely learning to take it day by day. I didn't start writing until maybe my sophomore year in high school. Fanfics from YT and tumblr really got me inspired to take it all the way. English also helped, as much as I hated homework, I loved writing papers (at least the ones you got to choose the topic). I have big dreams of selling books, writing movies, and making video games. Even though, I only have one finish story under my belt. There's not a story I haven't thought of that isn't still rotten in my head. It might not show but I'm serious about bringing all my work to life

A little insight about my writing, all the characters/plot have a hint of me in them if that makes sense. I write from personal experiences and movies/shows based or outright the reality of it all. Yes, they're all fiction but I like writing things that others can relate to or have experience themselves.

LIVE AND BREATH BLACK EXCELLENCE & SUCCESS. OBSESSED WITH IT! A win for the culture is always a win in my book. Another thing, my stories (not all) but a good 95% of them is for black audience. I love and respect everyone but if I can't connect with ppl that look like me first...what am I doing?

I'm a private girlie. Only share what doesn't hurt me to share. Life also teaches you not everything is for everybody. My peace comes before everything

LOVE BLACK LOVE! 🅿

I went to school for fashion design. Only thing I regret not having a minor/backup plan in computers or graphic design 😪

My mom is my role model. We may have what I call a strict relationship. But without her, I would not be here (literally and figuratively)

I used to have a yorkiepoo. Rip buddy (tho we fought like siblings and I despised it because ppl would call us siblings. He was mostly my mom dog lol)

Quick random things: Single again. Straight ally but can appreciate an attractive woman. I love em all but lookin for chocolate men lmao. I love shows like Power and Bel-Air. I read fanfic/bl manhwa religiously. Favorite color blue. Aries. I'm asthmatic.

Tagging @cinamun @liliumsims @plumbewb @sadraccoon061 and whoever liked to do this.