« ☆ starter for @camilleandre »
LOCATION: Girafe Restaurant
DATE/TIME: monday, january 17th at approx. twelve thirty in the afternoon
“J'aurai ..les fruits de mer du jour, s'il vous plait / I’ll have the seafood of the day, please.” All the locals knew that that Girafe's daily specials were the way to go, or so she’d recently discovered during one of her many luncheons there since moving to Paris. Vouex was only around the corner, and this, other than Cafe du Temple, seemed to be the place to be. Girafe was just a little nicer to take clients, or new friends like Camille was slowly becoming. Staring down at the GIRAFE design on top of her coffee foam, she quickly realised this was her third cup for the day. Her growing need for caffeine was becoming a problem, to say the least. After Camille orders and the waiter leaves their table, the brunette offers her a smile whilst fumbling around her bag for her deck of cigarettes. “—I know I’ve said this a hundred times, but wow, you are killing it today, mon chéri.”
un — THE CHARACTER
NAME: Camille André
BIRTHDAY: October 4, 1991
GENDER/PRONOUNS: Female | She/Her
OCCUPATION: Model for Voeux / Owner of Cheval et Châteaux
BIRTHPLACE: Toulouse, France
ARRONDISSEMENT: Élysée / 8th
LENGTH OF TIME IN PARIS: Since the age of six.
deux — THEIR STORY
Trigger Warnings: dyslexia, injury, suicide, death
On the night of October 4, 1991, Camille André entered the world with a loud cry and two bright blue eyes that would soon be fascinated by the world around her. Born to parents, Marcel and Lucille, their tiny bundle of perfection had been cursed from the start. With a name meaning “perfect” and her middle name, Jolie, meaning “pretty,” there was never any doubt that Camille would flourish into a beautiful young woman.
Having previously been parents to two rambunctious boys, Camille quickly became the pride and joy of the household. Fawned over by not only her parents, but her twin brothers as well. Although only five years her elders, Sébastien and Julien never let their sister forget it, serving as her protectors when necessary.
She was a quiet child, and though well-behaved, social situations could be daunting. “She’s just shy,” they said. “She’ll grow out of it,” they said. And even then, people loved her, Camille’s sweet and sunny disposition attracting her peers like flies to honey and capturing the hearts of those around her. But while most took a liking to the little girl, she could almost always be found in the corner with someone’s dog or cat at social gatherings, rather than mingling with her own kind. Camille had always liked animals more than people because they made her feel understood. They didn’t need to read or speak. You could tell exactly how they were feeling with a soft nuzzle or wag of their tail. In school, these skills didn’t come any easier. In fact, it wasn’t until her second grade teacher expressed his concerns that her parents finally discovered why. Camille had dyslexia. And it had not only delayed her speech in her first years of life, but affected her grades and confidence as she got older.
Over time, her abilities improved and Camille became more and more social, though she never felt quite as competent as her classmates. In high school, the blonde was rather popular, but not because she wanted to be. While she’d had two or three relationships and an abundance of friends over the four years, it was always difficult for her to tell whether or not her connections were genuine. Due to the success of her parents, a politician and a fashion designer, there were always those who failed to see past her wealth or possessions.
She wasn’t resentful, though. In fact, Camille was rather proud of her family. A daddy’s girl through and through, she admired her father and what he stood for. Unlike most politicians, Marcel had good morals and a genuine love for their country. He dreamed of running for president one day. Not for power or control, but to make a genuine difference. Lucille, on the other hand, was just as aspirational. She had turned a hobby and a dream into the career of a lifetime and it was all her own doing.
Like most teenage girls, Camille loved fashion. From flipping through the latest edition of VOGUE to shopping at the mall, she was always inspired by trends and keeping up with the latest styles. And luckily for her mother, this worked to her advantage. Rather than using a typical dress form, the designer often made use of her daughter’s figure, creating samples inspired by the person who reminded her so much of her younger self. For Camille, modelling came as a natural next step and while she enjoyed being in front of the camera, it was her mother’s enthusiasm that convinced her to sign onto her first modelling agency at the age of eighteen.
To most, it looked like she had everything she could ever want in life, but none of it satisfied her. Nobody ever stopped to ask what made her happy. And in the end, there was only one real answer to that question. Along with her brothers, Camille had been involved in many different hobbies and extracurriculars growing up. But as the years went on, ballet and gymnastics lost their appeal. The only one that really seemed to stick was horseback riding. As a true equestrian, Camille participated in competitions alongside her beautiful mare, Belle, up until the age of nineteen when a fall left her with a broken arm and several minor injuries. While this hadn’t been enough to scare her off, it was Lucille who forbade her from partaking in such “reckless” activities.
Although the accident had only left her out of commission for a total of two months, her mother feared that Camille would permanently ruin her image, and therefore her modelling career. Try as she might, it was rather difficult to understand the other woman’s qualms and the young equestrian was devastated. It was also then that Camille realized the true value of her beauty, wondering if it might just be the only thing she had left to offer the world. But just when she thought that she would have to give up working with animals for good, the stables announced their permanent closure and Camille bought them out. Instead, opening her own foster program and rescue, Cheval et Châteaux, a home for not only Belle, but unwanted dogs, cats and retired race horses alike.
Her father, on the other hand, was rather busy chasing his own dreams. And in the year of 2020, he decided to finally take a leap of faith and run for President of France. Their family was in the public eye now more than ever and while her and her siblings came to hate all of the whispers and stares, they couldn’t have been more happy for him and his success. Fans of his policies, many people praised Marcel’s name, claiming that he was a shoo-in. And for a while, he thought the same. That is until his long-time frenemy, Antoine Cadieux, stole the title right out from under him. Although Marcel and Antoine had always run in similar circles, there had been an unspoken rivalry between them. They were always competitive and always had to one-up the other, whether playing golf, or in this case, a presidential election.
Although Marcel was appointed the position of Prime Minister, it was rather difficult for him to celebrate the victory when he was far too focused on his loss. Rumours buzzed and while nobody could prove it to be true, Marcel couldn’t help but wonder if Antoine had taken the competition a little too far. Was there a reason the polls had steered him wrong, or had his old friend rigged the entire election? Just when their family thought that things couldn’t get any worse, they did. And four days after the election, an unexpected horror awaited them.
At the young age of thirty-three, Sébastien had taken his own life and nobody in the family had seen it coming. He was a good man with many aspirations and a bright future ahead of him. There had been no warning signs and while nobody wanted to believe it was true, the small sheet of paper he’d left behind argued otherwise. Devastated by the loss of his brother, Julien left the city, leaving his parents and sister to sort through the tragedy on their own. Marcel was forever changed that week. The warm, affectionate father that Camille had known and loved was no longer. Instead, leaving behind a heartbroken and bitter man in his place.
trois — THEIR PERSONALITY
+ compassionate, warm, hopeful
- non-confrontational, materialistic, insecure
PORTRAYED BY NIKI.
music lover, hot-headed, ambitious
“i’m not going to stand here and listen to you accuse me of things i clearly did”
- klaus mikaelson, probably
Jaime Camil arremete en contra del presidente de México, Andrés Manuel López Obrador “No está haciendo su trabajo”
starter for : @camilleandre.
location : le rouge nightclub.
The lights are bright, flashing red and orange across the walls and floor. Patrons dance, couples keeping close, locking lips and touching hands. Maya can only watch, her second drink being downed. The taste is bitter, sliding down her throat willingly, and her face scrunches with each sip as if she’s just sucked on a lemon. The liquor is welcomed regardless of any and all bitterness, really, as it aided in Maya’s barely-there courage when it came to social situations. Still, she remains a sort of wallflower, the only people she’s talked to this evening being the bartender and a man named Frank that owned a business making “personalized condoms”, whatever that means. Thankfully, she’s free of that now, and back to people-watching and sipping on vodka-infused bitterness.
That’s when her gaze shifts from the dancefloor and back to the bar. Others have fanned out to dance or mingle with others on the floor. Now, just a few seats beside Maya, seats a blonde woman. Maya catches a glimpse of her face under the flashing lights, still brightly colored and wild. It creates a tunnel around her, backlit like an angel would be in a cheesy movie. Funny Maya thinks of angels, because she swears she’s just seen one. The woman beside her is almost too gorgeous, like out of a magazine, and Maya feels the apples of her cheeks warm and redden at the sight of her. Her head turns, locking eyes with Maya, and she’s quick to avert her gaze out of nervousness. The last thing she wanted was to be caught staring. Though, she attempts to steal another glance through the corner of her eye, her hands moving to wrap around her glass.
Come on, Maya, buck up.
Again, she lifts her head, allowing her eyes to land on the other woman once more. A smile graces her red-lipped mouth before she speaks, leaning in a little closer, “Are your ears bleeding too? It’s like they make sure to play the music at maximum volume every single night. I’m thinking the DJ wants some kind of compliment on his carefully curated playlists.”
Location: At an important event
Andrei handpicked his own life to avoid the situation he was in at that moment, but it laughs in his face instead. He was not naïve though, he never believed he could run away from the spotlight when his two parents have made a name for themselves thus ensuring that never happened, but choosing Architecture gave him false hope that it would at least sweep the awareness of his existence away from the eager eyes of the big and wealthy. No such thing happened and he’s regretting ever agreeing to show up to this event as the son of Daniel Vulpe to represent the same.
A finger taps the glass he’s holding as he takes a deep breath, looking around now mentally distancing himself for the first time that night, it was draining him, but he is pulled back by the feeling of someone approaching him shortly after, eyes are closed momentarily as if begging for them to go away when he wrongly assumes it was someone interested in talking about his father’s empire. When Andrei summons the energy to turn his head he notices the blonde now stopping by the grazing table next to him - he knew that face, and for a moment he wished he was still circling the room talking to the magnates so he could avoid this situation. The face was not unfamiliar, but it didn’t take him long to know she was just another pretty face that said yes to everything her parents asked her to do hoping that would leave her rich for the rest of her life, he’s met plenty of people like her in the past, and the disdain seemed to come naturally, especially when it augmented the feeling that he didn’t belong in that place. “The cheese is delicious..” Anything to make small conversation and then find an excuse to keep moving, he thought. “We’ve met before but I honestly can’t remember the name..”
— CLOSED starter for @camilleandre at ÉTOILE BOOKS, midday.
While Gabriel’s promotion to manager of the bookstore — thanks to a former employee’s sudden exit — was a new one, he’d still worked there long enough to recognize some regulars, to know what they liked and didn’t like. Or, at least, what they bought and didn’t buy. Books, he’d reasoned to a group of students once, were personal choices — as personal as what someone would wear on any given day. The things one read, and the data collected from those things, impacted how someone saw the world. What could be more important, more memorable than that?
So, when he heard the gentle tinkling of the bell above the door and spotted a familiar head of blonde hair, a slight grin lifted the corners of his lips. Regardless of all his other faults, books and literature would always be sacred to Gabriel, which meant, by extension, his customers’ reviews of his suggestions were equally as important.
“Camille, it’s been a minute! Vous allez bien? ( Are you well? )” The man moved out from behind the short cart of items he was rearranging on a nearby shelf, arms then folding over his chest. “What did you think, Lincoln in the Bardo, huh? It’s a bit of a wild ride, but I think the... the heart of it is worth it. So, what did you think?” His voice lifting uncharacteristically in excitement, Gabriel kept his gaze on his counterpart, awaiting her response, practically with bated breath.
DATED: JANUARY 2020
CUSTOM MADE FOR: @camilleandre
LOCATION: 8TH ARRONDISSEMENT ( ÉLYSÉE )
Paris. A new beginning.
Or, at least, that’s what Victoria is telling herself.
It’s the mantra she’s been using to stave off any and all thoughts of an impending break in her sanity, the phrase she has wrapped her body around like a life preserver and relied on to carry her safely to the shores. The ink has just barely dried on her divorce papers, could possibly smudge if the curve of her left hand dragged across the surface to initial anywhere else — her furniture doesn’t quite look like her own now that it’s framed between different walls, different view filtering in through the windows. She’s telling herself that this is what’s best, that this is a new page in a new book of a life she has spent thirty six years trying to perfect to what seems like no avail. She’s in Paris, for fuck’s sake, in a beautiful home and in the last name that she knows best and an entire city at her feet. One where ghosts won’t follow her around, running the risk of standing in line behind one wh ile she’s getting her coffee for the day.
It’s lonely, though, a settled quiet that will take more than just a single night of sleep to grow accustomed to. She knows that she’s allowed to sit in her bedroom and breathe in the scent of fresh coats of paint on the wall, tears tracking down her face as she mourns a marriage and tries to find the pieces of herself in the upheaval. It doesn’t seem favorable the more she dwells on the thought, the more she idles around her house.
She needs out, just like she always does in the end.
It’s a breezy afternoon, sun tucked away behind a cloud as she strolls down the sidewalk with both hands tucked in the pocket of her coat. She’s yet to memorize her surroundings, what lies at the beginning and the end of the roads, but there is an odd comfort in knowing she has all the time ahead of her to acquaintance herself with the eighth arrondissement, create roots that sprawl underneath her new home. Her destination is not clear to her — coffee, she thinks, because there’s little margin of error in an afternoon coffee and perhaps an eclair or mont blanc. As she passes by one of the structures, she catches a flash of blonde hair. Victoria sucks in a breath and closes the distance between them, at a slight jog.
“Pardon!” she calls. “Would you mind...” Her voice trails off into the ether as her eyes settle upon the figure, the cogs in her brain whirring with recollections. Victoria’s brows furrow, a crinkled place of skin parallel to the slope of her nose as she tips her head slightly to the side. “Camille, isn’t it? Camille André?”
some outtakes of my beautiful girl camille ❤️
a autumn lookbook inspired by some light/dark academia outfits i saw on pinterest because i have three papers to write this week and i'm procrastinating <3
📝 cc links under the cut 📝
Eyeshadow - Neutrals Vol 1
Eyeliner - Iomri
Blush - Bowie
Lipstick - Fresh lipstick
Highlighter - Topaz
Earrings - Glimmerbrook V2
Hair - Olive
Top - Camille V2
Skirt - Annie
Socks - Stockings
Shoes - T-Bar V1
Hair - Braeylnn Braids
Top - Sam Cropped
Trousers - Serena
Shoes - Pauline (TSR)
Hair - Flower Child
Dress - Carly
Tights - Ophelia Stockings
Shoes - Textured leather boots (TSR)
Glasses - Tiny Living
Hair - Bianca
Top - Penelope
Trousers - Vivianne
Shoes - Buckle colour block flats
Glasses - Eco Lifestyle
Hair - Andre
Top - Klymene
Trousers - Albatross
Shoes - Shearling lined boots (TSR)
Thanks to all these CC creators for their amazing work!
@simandy @crypticsim @aharris00britney @greenllamas @simstrouble @mmsims @imvikai @clumsyalienn @jius-sims @simtone @nesurii @astya96cc @ayoshi @joliebean @kumikya @dissiasims @nuagelle @sentate @sheabuttyr
Camille with Andre Van Noord by Paolo Roversi for Cerruti Spring/Summer 2011
camille jeanes would not run any more.
the mantra, on repeat in the girl’s head, echoed.
it echoed as she stood on the doorstep of a small house in the outskirts of Paris.
it had been quite a ways from her home in Normandy all the way here, but reparations started somewhere.
the door opened and revealed a familiar man. he was pale, with dark hair that framed his rather square features. he was dressed in black leather.
his features softened when he caught camille’s eye, the tips of fang poking beyond his lip. he hadn’t aged a day past seventeen.
“salut, camille” said victor ketsueki.
victor and camille made their way to britain. they stopped at homes, greeting friends, most of whom agreed to travel with them.
the burrow was, as always, the most comforting.
warm hugs from molly weasley, though the family still in shock from the loss of one of the sons, were so comforting that camille nearly sobbed on the spot.
talbott winger. jae kim. tulip karasu.
all of them cold, hesitant to love again so freely.
yet each one followed camille.
she shouldn’t have lived.
no, she told herself firmly, you lived for a reason. use it.
chiara lobosca, diego caplan, skye parkin.
people camille thought she had lost.
people who thought they had lost her.
the warmth of chiara’s embrace, the way skye’s eyes crinkled up at the corners, diego’s kiss on the cheek.
all reminders of what she had, and what she had lost.
badeea ali, andre egwu, jae kim.
badeea, with paint splattered over her face and leg still braced in a cast.
andre, scarred and bruised but standing tall.
jae, nervous but melting into chiara’s arms.
penny haywood. ben copper. liz tuttle.
penny, who hadn’t spoken to camille at all since their hogwarts graduation, breaking into a huge smile at her face.
ben, so nervous and then so reckless, with his arm still in a sling and bandages around his head, pulling her into newly-strong arms.
liz, smelling of woodsmoke and grass, with a bowtruckle clinging to her shoulder, softly smiling.
squadrons of aurors were stationed outside, even as camille entered the murk house. a slight figure, with knees pulled to her chest by the fire, turned.
he was still strong, all these years later.
scars danced along his bicep as he pulled camille into a hug and spun her around, and it was as if the tattoo on the onset of his forearm faded.
camille didn’t begrudge him it.
she knew, if even one thing had changed, she would be in his place.
snyde manor was huge. intimidating.
camille didn’t tremble or falter.
she adjusted the patch over where her eye should have been and knocked.
a man, not merula, answered the door.
he took one look at camille and turned and shouted something.
moments later, merula, tired and haggard and marked in a way that could never be changed appeared.
the last stop.
the porch of the old farmhouse was still creaky.
mr khanna opened the door and saw the gathering of young adults, each with flowers and candles.
he sent them out back.
a stone. by a tree laden with berries.
camille knelt and presses her forehead to the cool surface.
candles were set around her, lit, and moved a safe distance away.
camille murmured then, though she knew everyone could hear it.
“hello, rowan. tell tonks i say hello, too.”
youngest professor in hogwarts history, teaching history of magic, killed by a falling wall at the battle of hogwarts.
camille knew sacrifice.
she knew loss.
but she never knew anything as deep as this.
she vaguely felt a pair of arms, clad in a green flannel, close around her as the tears came.
she didn’t stop them.
she was sorry.
SO I WROTE SMTH-
Incorrect quotes de mis OC's porque me apetecía.
Orión: ¿Puedes ser serio por cinco minutos?
Camil: Mi récord son cuatro, pero creo que puedo.
Catherine @ Teddy Bear: Btw, mi malewife podría ganarle al tuyo.
Ragdoll: ¿Por qué estás tan sonriente?
Void: ¿No puedo sonreir porque quiero?
Three: Teddy Bear se ha caído por las escaleras.
Neil: ¿Por qué tenéis las lenguas moradas?
Marissa: Nos tomamos unos polos, yo me tomé uno rojo.
Dave: Yo uno azul.
Maddison: ¿Os comistéis el polo del otro?
Carmín: Vale, plan B.
Uriel: Realmente estamos en el plan g...
Orión: ¿Cuantos planes tenemos? ¿Tenemos un plan M?
Saihara: Sí, pero Camil muere en el plan M.
Orión: Me gusta el plan M.
Three: Hemos intentado las cosas a tu manera.
Andre: No es verdad.
Three: Lo hice en mi mente. Salió mal.
Katrina: ¿Queréis que os lea las cartas?
Someone: Eso son cartas pokémon.
Katrina: Tienes un Bidoof. Significa jódete.
Axel, hablándole a Tamara: Te reto a-
Dante: Tamara tiene prohibido aceptar retos.
Tamara: Aparentemente "no me preocupo por mi integridad física."
Cassidy: Hola, humanos.
Void: Tres tipos de persona.
Teddy Bear: ... Quiero comer.
Void: Cuatro. Cuatro tipos de persona.
Dave, pateando la puerta: ¡HOLA, HIJOS DE P-
Void: ... Tú no cuentas como persona.
Dante: Nombra un dúo más icónico que mi depresión y mi ansiedad.
Tamara: ¡Tú y yo!
Dante, sollozando: Ok.
Three: Te voy a enseñar una foto de anoche que me molesta.
Teddy Bear: Ellectrika me pagó 50 céntimos por beberme el champú.
Three: No me refería a es- ¿BEBISTE CHAMPÚ?
Dave: Puedo explicarlo.
Dave: Si me das 30 segundos para pensar algo...
Dante: Awww... Que os toméis de las manos es muy dulce.
Axel: Los estudios dicen que es bueno para el estrés.
Dante: ... Pensé que estábais saliendo.
Tamara: Lo estamos. Pero también estamos estresados.
Azazel: Te me haces familiar, ¿te he amenazado antes?
Pink: Me gusta mucho esa onda de "tipo bueno y tipo malo" que tenéis :D
Kath: No es eso.
Catherine: Kath es una borde y yo no.