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mrschtappen · 1 month

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𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄

I : The Call of the Circuit -> II : Dreams Ignited (soon) -> III : Untitled (soon)

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Max Verstappen x Schumacher!reader

Synopsis: childhood friends Max Verstappen and you, the daughter of racing legend Michael Schumacher, evolve from best friends to fierce rivals to teammates. maybe then to lovers....?

Monday, 10th December, 2018 Faenza, Italy

You sat alone at your new office, your eyes fixed on the glowing screen of your phone. The Twitter announcement you had posted earlier that day was still causing ripples across the internet, igniting a firestorm of reactions and responses from fans and followers around the world.

As you scrolled through the flood of comments, memes, and well-wishes flooding your feed, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. The overwhelming wave of support and excitement from your supporters served as a poignant reminder of the incredible journey that lay ahead.

You made sure you turned off the lights of your new office when you were about to go. Settling inside your Audi R8, the soft chime from your phone took your attention away from driving.

As you read Max's message about bringing a Michael Schumacher merch from Germany, a wave of mixed emotions washed over you. The mention of your father's name, especially in connection with Germany, brought back vivid memories of the ski accident that had changed your lives forever in 2013.

your heart felt heavy, a subtle ache resurfacing as you recalled the challenging times that followed your father's accident. The uncertainty, the hope, and the unwavering support from loved ones, including Max, during those difficult years played like a reel in your mind.

Despite the pain and the bittersweet nostalgia, you weren't angry with Max for bringing up those memories. In fact, you felt a sense of gratitude for his thoughtfulness and the comfort of your shared history. Max had been a pillar of strength and understanding throughout your journey, and his genuine care and friendship meant more to you than any merchandise ever could.

Sitting alone in your car, you took a moment to let the emotions wash over you. You reflected on your journey and the pivotal decision to join Formula 1, a deep sense of determination and purpose filled your heart. Since you were three years old, the dream of racing in F1 had been a beacon of hope and ambition, driving you to push boundaries and defy expectations.

You knew that stepping onto the track wasn't just about fulfilling your childhood dreams; it was also a tribute to your father and the legacy he had built. The memories of watching Michael Schumacher's triumphant moments, especially his 6th championship title, had ignited a spark within you, fueling her passion and commitment to chase after her own aspirations.

Despite the challenges and the weight of the past, you felt a profound sense of gratitude and pride. You knew that your journey was a testament to your resilience, determination, and the unwavering support of those who believed in you, including Max.

Sunday, 12th October, 2003 Suzuka, Japan

As a three-year-old, you may not have comprehended the complexity of Formula One racing, the excitement buzzing in the air, the infectious energy of the crowd through the grandstands. The vibrant colors of the racing cars zooming past, the deafening roar of engines, and the flashes of cameras captured your attention, painting a kaleidoscope of sensory impressions.

Although your understanding was limited at such a tender age, the sight of Michael Schumacher, dressed in his iconic red racing suit, elicited a sense of pride and admiration within your young heart.

"That's my dad !" your little fingers pointed at the red car zooming the finish line, practically screaming at everyone as you started clapping then.

The warmth of your mother's embrace welcomed you as you cheered together, caught up in the euphoria of the moment.

your eyes wide with wonder as you watched your father bask in the spotlight and as Michael Schumacher descended from the podium, triumphant and beaming with joy, his eyes sought out you, your mother and your older brother Mick in the crowd. With a tender smile, he reached out to scoop up his young daughter, lifting you into his arms and hoisting you high above the crowd.

the cameras flashed and the crowd erupted into applause, you enjoyed the attention, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world to be held in the arms of your racing hero.

The image of your bond captured for all to see, you knew that this was a moment you would cherish forever—a moment when you felt truly seen and cherished by the man who meant the world to you.

your dad, Michael Schumacher.

Saturday, 27th November 2003. Gland, Switzerland

you stepped onto the karting track for the very first time, your heart pounding with excitement and nerves. The whole family was there along with your dad's friend's family, the Vertsappens. With your tiny hands gripping the steering wheel of your go-kart, you were confused on how the whole kart operates.

"You've got this schatzi !" You heard your dad cheer for you from a distance, calling you a nickname that means sweetie in German.

Frustrated, you spoke

"How do I do this ?"

Max Verstappen, the seasoned six-year-old racer, flashed you a mischievous grin as he leaned over to offer his expertise.

"Watch and learn, little rookie. First, you gotta push down on the pedal like this..."

With a swift motion, Max demonstrated, his foot pressing down on the accelerator pedal with practiced ease. You watched intently, your eyes wide with fascination.

"Like this?"

you mimicked Max's actions, but your foot hesitated on the pedal, unsure of the right amount of pressure to apply.

Max chuckled, reaching over to gently guide your foot.

"Almost there, y/n ! You just need to press a little harder."

you nodded eagerly, determined to master the art of go-karting with Max's help.

"Got it! Thanks, Maxie !"

As you zip around the track, the conversation turned to your shared love for Formula One racing.

"Do you think we'll ever drive in Formula One, Max ?"

Max grinned, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"Of course! And when we do, I'll be the world champion, then Mick and you will be my trusty sidekicks."

you rolled her eyes playfully, a giggle escaping your lips.

"Dream on, Max! I'll be the one leaving you in the dust!"

"Hey, you two ! How's it going ? " a familiar voice chimed in from behind you, causing both Max and you to turn around

Max grinned, giving Mick a playful nod.

"We're having a blast ! little rookie here is a natural behind the wheel."

you blushed at the praise from Max

"Thanks, Maxie ! And hey, Mick, I'm going to beat you someday !"

Mick laughed heartily, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Is that so ? Well, I look forward to the challenge ! Let's see who can get to formula one first"

Your banter filled the air with laughter as the three of you raced around the track, your friendship growing stronger with each passing lap. And as you crossed the finish line second, just a few millisecond behind Max, a smile grew wide on your face.

"Looks like you've got a prodigy, are you sure this is her first time ? She's a natural" Max's dad said, a chuckle escaped from your dad

You crossed the finish line just 4 tenths of a second later than someone who was 3 years older than you. You can feel the pride surging even when you were just so little.

"wow you're fast" your older brother said, giving you a high five as you returned it enthusiastically with a tiny jump

"yeah, not so bad little rookie !" Max also gave you a high five

you smile with your tiny teeths showing, your dad embraced you, lifting you up in the air

"my daughter is a soon to be formula one racer, and the world shall know you as for you are, not the daughter of a six time world champion but y/n Schumacher."

you couldn't help but feel grateful for everyone's guidance and support, knowing that with them by your side, you knew you were able to achieve anything.

Thursday, 14 March 2019 Melbourne, Australia ROUND ONE

As you took your first steps out to greet the fans, a wave of exhilaration and gratitude washed over you. The energy from the crowd was palpable, a mix of excitement, anticipation, and overwhelming support. The sight of fans waving flags, holding up banners, and wearing team colors was a surreal and heartwarming experience for you.

Walking along the barricades, you were met with a sea of merchandise bearing your name and face, along with the iconic Michael Schumacher memorabilia that fans had brought along. The presence of the Michael Schumacher merchandise added an extra layer of emotion to the moment, reminding you of the legacy you were a part of and the immense responsibility that came with it.

As you greeted fans, signing autographs and posing for photos, several fans couldn't help but comment on the striking resemblance between you and your legendary father, Michael Schumacher. Their kind words and compliments about your beauty and resemblance to your father filled you with a sense of pride and humility.

Amidst the flurry of interactions, one fan caught your attention with a cheeky remark that left both of you laughing.

you backed away with laughter, cupping your mouth, looking at a marriage certificate by an older fanboy, a good looking one you couldn't lie.

"I'm 19 !" You exclaimed, a wide laugh still visible on your face

"Maybe in a few years !" You joked, before moving to another fan, signing her cap with the number 57 on it, a number you chose to drive for.

It was media day today which means there's no driving and the press conference began with Lewis Hamilton from Mercedes, Sebastian Vettel of Ferrari, Daniel Ricciardo from Renault, Max Verstappen of Red Bull Racing and of course yourself, y/n Schumacher from Scuderia Toro Rosso.

"We’re gathered under very sad circumstances, following the news that Charlie Whiting, the FIA’s Director of Formula One died during the early hours of this morning. I’d like to start this press conference by asking each of the drivers present for their thoughts and memories of Charlie. Lewis, could we start with you, please?" Lewis spoke to the mic

"I’ve known Charlie since I started in 2007. I made some comments this morning on my Instagram. It may have not worked, as I think it’s down but obviously incredibly shocked this morning to hear the sad news and my thoughts and prayers are with him and his family. What he did for this sport, I mean, his commitment… he really was a pillar, as Toto said, such an iconic figure in the sporting world and he contributed so much for us, so may he rest in peace."

as the other drivers stated their comments regarding the passing of the late Charlie Whiting, it was your turn to answer

"How about y/n ? I believe this has come to a big shock as well as your father was also racing when he was the f1 racing director ?"

"yes, my father raced during Charlie's tenure as F1 Racing Director. I've met Charlie a few times and found him to be a wonderful person. His dedication to safety and fairness in Formula One was unmatched. Charlie's ability to connect with everyone in the paddock and his unwavering passion for the sport made him irreplaceable. My thoughts are with his family, friends, and the entire FIA community during this tough time. His legacy in Formula One will always be remembered"

as they continued tho the next question, you were shocked as to how bold and daring for this male interviewer to ask the whole lot of drivers with you

"Given the whispers around the paddock about nepotism getting y/n Schumacher this seat due to her father's legacy, and considering she is the sole female on the grid, do you drivers genuinely believe she is as competent as the other drivers, or do you acknowledge a potential gap in her skill?"

As the interviewer's words cut through the tension of the room, your face tightened, a blend of disbelief and frustration clouding your features. The weight of the question bore down on you, amplifying your discomfort and vulnerability in that moment.

You felt exposed, the spotlight glaringly bright, intensifying the scrutiny you felt as the only female driver on the grid.

Sensing your discomfort, a subtle shift occurred amongst the drivers on the panel. Eyes darted towards you, expressions reflecting concern and empathy.

Among them, Max Verstappen's gaze lingered a moment longer, his usually confident demeanor softened by genuine concern for his fellow driver.

The collective silence that followed the question seemed to stretch on, the atmosphere thick with tension. But within you, a resilient fire ignited. Drawing strength from the supportive glances of your peers and your own unwavering determination, you steadied yourself. You would not let this moment define you or shake your belief in your own capabilities.

"could we start with you again Lewis ?"

Lewis's expression tightened, clearly upset by the nature of the question.

"Honestly, I find it disappointing that in this day and age, we're still having these discussions. Women have proven time and time again that they can compete at the highest levels of motorsport. I've been a staunch supporter of women in racing, and I've seen firsthand the talent and determination they bring to the track."

"Look, in Formula 1, everyone's path to the grid is different. Yes, some of us come from racing families or have certain connections, but ultimately, talent and hard work are what count. I've faced skepticism throughout my career for various reasons, and I've always chosen to let my performance on the track speak for itself. As for y/n, she's shown promise and skill in her journey to F1. The sport is better when we have diverse talents, and I believe she deserves her place here"

"Thank you for the answer, could we move on to Vettel next ?"

Vettel's brows furrowed, eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and growing indignation. "It's disappointing, really, to hear these questions. Every driver on this grid has earned their seat through dedication, hard work, and skill. Formula 1 is a tough environment, and to suggest that anyone is here purely because of their name or gender undermines the effort we all put in. I've met y/n and seen her commitment firsthand. She belongs here as much as anyone else."

Then they moved on to Danny. His jovial demeanor momentarily shifted as he heard the interviewer's pointed question directed at you. Being someone who often exudes positivity and fairness, Daniel values meritocracy and respects the grind every driver goes through to reach Formula 1. Hearing a fellow driver being questioned on the basis of nepotism and gender struck a chord with him.

"Ah, the old nepotism and gender card. It's not a new question in F1, but it's one that misses the mark. Sure, having a famous last name might open some doors initially, but it won't keep them open if you can't deliver on track. As for being the only female driver, I think it's about time we focus on skills and capabilities rather than gender. I've had the chance to get to know y/n, and she's got talent. End of story."

Then they moved on to Max, who is known for his fierce competitiveness and straightforwardness. It was clear that he was infuriated by the audacious implication and the discomfort it caused you.

Seeing you visibly uncomfortable only intensified Max's emotions. He felt a surge of protective anger, recognizing the unfair scrutiny and challenges you faced as the only female driver on the grid. In that moment, the friendship among drivers was evident, as Max's concern for your well-being was palpable.

His eyes flashed with fury as he seized the opportunity to address the interviewer's audacious question. His voice dripped with venom as he unleashed his pent-up frustration.

"Firstly, the audacity to question anyone's place on this grid based on gender or family name is just absolute garbage. She's earned her spot on this grid through sheer talent and hard work, just like the rest of us. Anyone who suggests otherwise is either blind or just plain ignorant."

His words were sharp and cutting, each syllable laced with disdain for the backward mindset behind the question. Max's aggression was palpable as he continued to tear down the baseless accusations.

"In case you missed it, Formula 1 is about racing, talent, dedication, and hard work, not gender or who your parents are. It's disappointing to still be facing these backward stereotypes in this day and age. We should be focusing on racing and the incredible talent we have on this grid, not trying to create controversy where there isn't any . For the record, I've raced alongside her, and I've known her my entire life. Y/n is an extraordinary racer through and through, and she's proven herself time and time again."

He paused, taking a breath to temper his rising emotions before continuing,

"So, how about we focus on the actual sport instead of dredging up this garbage ?"

Max's aggressive defence reverberated through the room, leaving no doubt as to where he stood on the matter and silencing any further attempts to undermine your place in the sport.

As you listened to Max's vehement defense, a mixture of emotions washed over you. Initially, there was a sense of relief and gratitude. Max's and the other drivers' unwavering support and fierce defence of you felt like a shield against the unfair scrutiny you had faced. It was reassuring to know that your fellow drivers stood your her and were willing to call out the injustice.

Your eyes briefly met Max's intense gaze, conveying a silent thank you and mutual understanding of the gravity of the situation.

Then it was finally your turn to answer

With a poised demeanor, you addressed the room, your voice steady and confident.

"I'd like to extend my sincere appreciation to my fellow drivers for their support. It speaks volumes about the fellowship and respect we share as competitors."

Pausing momentarily, you continued with a touch of irony,

"Regarding the questions raised about nepotism and being the only female on the grid, I was under the impression that Formula 1 valued skill, determination, and performance above all else. My presence here is a testament to my commitment, capability, and qualities I believe are fundamental to every driver on this grid."

Maintaining your composure, you added, "While these questions may have been posed, my focus remains unwaveringly on racing. I am here to compete, to challenge, and to succeed, just like every other driver. I look forward to letting my performance on the track speak for itself. Besides, I don't see 19 men ahead of me, I see 19 challenges to be conquered."

With this response, you gracefully but firmly addressed the issue, highlighting your professionalism and determination to rise above the noise and excel in your chosen profession.

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hotvintagepoll · 28 days

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Propaganda

Yvonne De Carlo (Frontier Gal, The Ten Commandments, Casbah)— Although most famous for playing Lily Munster in The Munsters, Yvonne De Carlo had a successful movie career throughout the 1940s and 1950s, appearing in such films as “The Ten Commandments”, “Sea Devils” and two Munster movies later in life.

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Yvonne de Carlo:

The woman who brought Burt Lancaster to his knees.

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

Linked gifset

Linked gifset 2

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

#yvonne de carlo #setsuko hara #hotvintagepoll #ladies 2 #fuck that old woman

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cartierre · 9 months

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SUGAR COOKIE | cs55

SOCIAL MEDIA!AU carlos sainz x fem!japanese!reader (fc: minatozaki sana)

side note: there's no real plot except the whole world simping for y/n.

♡ liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, landonorris and 189,837 others

tagged: carlossainz55

yourusername miami so far 💛🧡🩵

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user1 i am deeply obsessed with y/n ⤷ user2 ong

user3 every time i see a post of y/n on my time line my day automatically becomes so much better

carlossainz55 mi rayo de sol (my sunshine) ⤷ yourusername 🌞🌞

user4 she is the it-wag

user5 i cannot believe i'm able to live at a time where y/n exists

♡ liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and 311,031 others

tagged: yourusername

graff Graff is delighted to announce its partnership with Y/N Y/L/N as its very first brand ambassador in Japan. Graff is synonymous with unrivalled artistry and striking design and is thrilled to partner with Y/N, whose passion and creative fearlessness is showcased in her flawless appearance.

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user6 i'm so broke i had to google wtf graff is just now

user7 "flawless appearance" SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK

yourusername so grateful and honoured to be able to partner up with an incredible brand such as graff! feels like a dream come true! comment liked by graff

user8 is this like y/n merchandise but for the mega rich

user9 y/n in her model era is so iconic ⤷ user10 she deserves all the brand deals fr

♡ liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 673,912 others

tagged: yourusername

carlossainz55 a little break in between races

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user11 they're so adorable i wanna throw up and bash my head against the wall

user12 y/n being shy and all blushy has me feeling some type of ways

yourusername i told you not to post that picture! ⤷ carlossainz55 what do you mean this is my new favourite picture of you ⤷ carlossainz55 you look lovely as ever

user13 i'm melting by how cute carlos and y/n are together

user14 if they ever break up with each other i'll have to call the police ⤷ user15 i will not become a child of divorce again

♡ liked by carlossainz55, danielricciardo, landonorris and 201,936 others

tagged: carlossainz55

yourusername summer break! 💐

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user16 i think i'm getting diabetes from how cute you two are ⤷ user17 so real honestly

user18 i need to call my therapist because y'all make me feel a bit too single for my liking

carlossainz55 te amo (i love you) my sugar cookie ⤷ yourusername mi amor 🫶🏻 (my love)

user19 no stop i hate it here but also never ever think about breaking up ⤷ user20 carlos isn't that stupid to let someone like y/n just go

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cheralith · 3 months

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vogue — 「 boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader 」

synopsis ; even without much knowledge in the world of fashion, you decide that it's in your best interest to work for the country's fashion magazine powerhouse. however, you begin to second-guess your decision when you're faced with the grueling labor of its one and only editor-in-chief who expects nothing less of perfection. can your efficiency meet his standards or will you be out the door before you can even blink?

content tags/warnings ; gn!reader, use of they/them pronouns, mild language, traditional japanese basis of (l/n) (f/n) used, reader wears glasses, makeup, and heeled boots, some mild manga and jjk 0 spoilers (three minor characters from each are introduced), uhhh suguru being a dick lawl, some parts not edited/not beta read

contains ; editor-in-chief!geto, fashion designer!geto, assistant!reader, assistant turned ****!reader, platonic roommate!ino, modern au, mild angst, some crack if you squint

word count ; 10.2k

notes ; heavily inspired by "the devil wears prada" and "paradise kiss", so there'll be some references i've dropped within this—see if you can spot them! also the censored is spoilers so until then, hehe.

now playing ; seven days in sunny june - jamiroquai

It’d be foolish not to know the household name of Geto Suguru, the ultimate male muse of Jun Takahashi whose title has yet to be reigned by another. He was the ultimate breathing mannequin of the iconic Yohji Yamamoto piece he had worn on the Milan runway back when he was just a teenager. It was one of the most staple pieces of the new century that helped open the gates of the mixing of world culture and avant garde fashion—an England-Japanese punk fusion of an ashen and tattered kasaya layered under the contrasting statement piece: the earth-toned gojōu-gesa splattered with weaves of gold—and it was that very piece that rose him to the top of the fashion world as one of the most powerful names in global fashion.

And how could he not? At seventeen, he was scouted as a model for Gaulthier and became his muse at the ripe age of twenty before several other worldwide designers began to fight for his eyes. It was only a few shrewd years later that he’d open up his own successful fashion line, RIIKO, named in honor of his late sister, resulting in it becoming one of the fashion line pillars in the modern century.

It didn’t take long after that, due to his fame and distinct education from Jujutsu University, rising to the top for Kaizen fashion magazine and ruling it with an iron fist and several cups of coffee with almost all his designs on display for all to see in the office. It was due to his work that Kaizen became the powerhouse of powerhouses of fashion editorials and magazines and it was solely his work that made fashion what it was in present times.

Whether it was direct or indirect, Geto had impacted the industry in all sorts of ways. Be it blossoming an upcoming supermodel’s name or setting new fashion trends, everything could essentially be traced to Geto Suguru.

So it’s understandable that many had called you a fool—a dimwit, even—for not understanding how big of a deal it was to become his junior assistant after lazily submitting your resume. Originally, you had just wanted to become a simple lifestyle journalist for papers like Sankei Shimbun or The Japan Times, but seeing how it was between a seemingly mysterious fashion magazine that mentioned, received gasps, or the measly and homely newspaper of The Hokkaido Tribune, a magazine you knew would only give new journalists the scraps of what they earned, the choice was obvious.

Whatever gave you more money, you’d take. Survival of the fittest, was this world not?

“Do not tell me you’re going to your interview at Kaizen wearing that?” Ino barks out a laugh as he finishes his morning cereal for breakfast, scanning your outfit. “You’re going to work in a fashion magazine, not some dingy corporate office.”

You sneer at him as you shove on your loafers (don’t mind that the leather is peeling slightly on the side). You think that there’s nothing remotely wrong with your overused gauntlet gray matching set of trousers and blazer with a slightly wrinkled button-up underneath it.

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at your roommate and parttime brother figure. “What on earth do you know about fashion?”

“Enough of it to know that outfit is atrocious for that type of environment,” he states simply as he shoves a donut in his mouth. He kicks his feet up on the table, making you cringe at their nakedness. “Trust me, change if you can. Make a statement for ‘em.”

Ino Takuma sighs and glances at your thick spectacles that you’ve worn since early college. “And at least change your glasses for your contacts. Heard they don’t like those sorta things over there. At least not the prescription kind.”

“Can’t find them,” you grunt when you feel the weight of your shoulder bag heave down your body. “I’m already late, anyway,” you sigh, “Listen, if I don’t come back alive, which I will by the way, then you can dance on my grave all you want.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he chants before he lets out a haughty snicker that gets muffled instantly when you slam the door on him.

You throw insults at Ino in your mind, grumbling about how a mere job hopper like him wouldn’t even know the speck of fashion, how you refuse to take advice from someone who wears the same thing every day. There’s nothing wrong with the gray, you think. It’s safe and presentable, ordinary and professional, and you’d much rather blend in than stand out as you believe standing out and making yourself known is just a recipe for trouble.

Stretching out a hand on the street, you call for a taxi and humbly enter as you smooth out your trousers. The taxi driver eyes you in the rearview mirror with a questioning glint in your eye. “Job interview?” he asks.

“Oh, um,” you nod your head. “Yep! I'm a little nervous, haha.”

“Really?” he says as he gratefully steps on the accelerator a little faster. “Better get you there quick, then. Would hate to have you late. Where are you planning on working?”

“Kaizen Magazine,” you declare confidently, an affirmative look on your face.

“Kaizen?” questions the driver slowly as his eyes go to scan your outfit in the mirror again, his brows raised. “As in the… the fashion magazine?”

You nod with visible apprehensiveness. You think that maybe you truly were the only person in the world that didn’t know the impact of Kaizen, seeing as how a mere taxi driver even knew about the name and you didn’t up until a few weeks ago.

“I see…” he mutters. The drive there is a mix of silence and everyday morning conversations, before he pulls up to the building that held the key to your dreams. “Well then, here’s your stop.”

You let out a little gasp of excitement. “Thank you so much,” you reply as you shove some cash into the slot.

“Hm, well,” the taxi driver counts the money carefully, barely looking just before you close the door as he mutters, “Good luck, Plain Jane.”

You turn back to the taxi, your hearing a little awry. “Sorry, what was that?”

But when you turn back to the yellow cab, all that’s left is a billow of smoke and cinders. Dazed and confused, you quickly shake those feelings off before you head inside to the building that was now your shining beacon of hope with a determined smile still plastered on your lips. White is the first thing that greets you when you enter the building as it was essentially aired out onto every corner. White marble counters, white tile flooring with white grout, white frames of fashion icons—the white screams pristine and perfection to you and its message went very much noticed. You haven’t even met Geto Suguru yet, but you understood already that he expected nothing but excellence.

You ride up the elevator quietly and alone, trying not to focus on how your anxiety increased with each ding of the passing floors. The elevator screen seems to almost taunt you as it closes in on your doom, the numbers getting closer to the designated floor until it slowly pauses and shone brightly the number 21 in stippled red.

The doors slowly open and the light seeps itself back to your vision, white flooding your senses again. You carry yourself carefully down the hallway whilst taking your time to admire the many framed pictures of past magazines, multiple runway models, and scraps of newspaper articles. One specific piece catches your attention, however; it was large, almost half your body size and framed in a gilded black frame. It was a picture of a mannequin wearing a tawdry gray-black robe with the kanji characters of “summer” painted with purple messily atop. Layered was a loose, but well-fitted piece of thick green and gold cloth that looked much more refined to the messiness of the other materials.

You stare at it for what seemed to be forever whilst admiring the contrast and beauty of the work before your name is called out.

“(Y/N) (L/N)?”

Your trance breaks from the voice approaching you. You turn to see a short and young woman with dark blue eyes staring at you with a raised brow. “That’s you I presume?” she asks.

“Oh! Uh,” you nod furiously and smooth out your trousers again. “Yes… yes, that’s me. I assume you’re Manami Suda? The one I spoke with on the phone?”

She nods slowly, her eyes going to study your outfit which was a rather stark contrast to her own attire that highlighted an emphasis on shades of opal and navy. Her eyes have a similar glint in the way that Ino’s and the taxi driver’s had, further enunciating the message that your attire was rather… something.

“I see you’ve dressed up for the occasion,” she murmurs. Sarcasm going undetected by you, you grin as a response and think that a compliment from her was a sign you did something right. Her eyes go to rise back and meet yours again before she turns and redirects you to the end of the hallway where some rooms belonging to subordinal editors sat in, clacking away at the computers. There was one singular room that held the only door on the floor and it doesn’t take you long to assume who it belongs to considering the large letters of GS frosted onto the glass.

Two desks stood on each side of the door, one completely devoid of life and decorations. Manami guides you to the empty one and patted the top of it. “This will be yours if you manage to miraculously pass.”

Manami taps on her clipboard a couple of times, listing off a couple of requirements that you were most likely going to need in the future: efficient time management, ability to fight for what Geto wants, sharp memory, quick feet…

“And uh…” Manami flickers her eyes to you and the details (or lack of, in this case). She mutters under her breath quietly, “... a good wardrobe.”

You turn to her, internally wondering if you were going deaf today. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“A good, warm…” she squints, obviously finding the right word to keep that ignorant smile on your face. “... welcome to start off his day.”

She succeeds in her task as you merely nod with the same blatant grin attached. “Got it!”

Manami tours you around the floor of the office, letting you say hello to your future coworkers that work in the cubicles that send you worried looks behind your back. They obviously seem too pitying of you, knowing that your fate would be sealed as Geto’s potential right hand man the moment you signed that employee contract.

“This is Human Resources,” Manami gestures over to a room filled with chattering employees who seemed to be getting their gossip out before their day started. “You’ll contact them if you have any—” her phone dings suddenly. Casually, she pulls it out, only for all of her resolve to disappear in an instant. Manami then abruptly blows a whistle with her teeth, alerting everybody in the radius.

“Everybody! His morning facial was canceled!” Manami hollers. “Geto is coming in…” her phone pings again with another notification, and you can tell Manami’s heart instantly drops. “Oh God… he’s in the lobby! Everybody, places! You,” she snags the sleeve of your blazer and drags you along with her, your clunky loafers nearly tripping you. “Come with me.”

Manami takes back to where you first started and orders you to stand in the front of the blank desk with a look that screams both fright and anxiousness all in one. She lists off too many tasks that you need to do before he comes, but you’re so frazzled with trying to remember how to act in front of your future boss that you can’t even remember the first thing she told you.

“Help me arrange the drafts of the magazines from most recent to least recent before he—”

The elevator dings and all goes quiet; Manami tosses the magazines over her shoulders and positions herself firmly in her place, gesturing for you to do the same. The doors open and unveiled from two bodyguards is a man—a tall man, around six feet or perhaps even taller—dressed in noir fitted pants and a matching button-up closed only halfway to reveal a silk navy turtleneck. Caped behind him is a black velvet trenchcoat that you’re sure is worth half your rent and a watch plated on his wrist that is well over your life savings. He’s slightly sunkissed, with blue-black tresses of hair with a soft bang sneaking through and large plated earrings to match. His eyes, however, show a tint of color—a sharp dark amethyst that you think could cut through you like crystals.

But he’s almost hauntingly attracting—like a spirit. Something about him was an enigma and his aura was nothing less than powerful.

“Good morning, Geto,” Manami chants with an artificial happiness to her tone.

Geto doesn’t reply, just merely giving a silent blink before he sheds his coat off and tosses it aimlessly towards Manami. It proves to be heavier than anticipated, giving how she fights to groan from the weight of it. He’s handed his briefcase from one of the bodyguards and begins to open the door to his office until he pauses and turns and glances at you, the stranger.

“Hello,” you state with a slight bow. “I-I’m one of the interviewees for your junior assistant. My name is—”

“(Y/N),” Geto murmurs; his voice is soft and low. It’s all knowing, with indigo eyes boring into your own. “(L/N) (Y/N), I know. The one that graduated from Jujutsu University recently, yes?”

Adjusting your glasses to wave away the blurriness, you nod with anticipation. “Yes, that’s me.”

Geto turns back and opens the door, to which he only replies back, “In my office.”

You glance at Manami for confirmation, only given back with a jut of her head towards the door. All the unease you felt in the elevator comes hurdling back to you in an instinct and you feel as if you were no more than a peasant to someone that was essentially royalty in the fashion world.

Geto turns his chair to face away from you, shuffling a few papers over each other that appears to be your resume, before he spins it slowly towards you. He kicks his feet up lazily on his desk.

“It’s nice to have another Jujutsu alum to join us,” he says. His voice is still the same—a little baritone with a wisping edge of a whisper to it, but it almost sounds… bored. Unamused even. “A bachelors in print journalism… same as mine, hm. Tell me, is Professor Tengen still as loose as ever with their practices?”

You fight to fiddle with your glasses as you watch as Geto tangibly toys with his own, with his focus angled on the papers in front of him rather than you. “Um, I assume so. Though I believe they’re actually retiring this year.”

“Good,” he sighs in what seems to be relief. “Shame that the university had wasted time and money by hiring them. Truly, I hope they can find someone much better suited for their position.”

“Really?” you quietly question. You had only taken their class a few semesters ago and thought despite their rather… all too lenient disposition… you did learn quite a lot in their class. “I thought they were a rather alright teacher…”

Regret pools in your mouth from the moment you have finished your sentence. Geto finally goes to look at you from the edge of his glasses with a sharp look, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

“Tengen was merely a sorry excuse for a professor. They were rather nothing but a nanny who gave their students too much leeway,” Geto declares. “Though, I’ll admit, I am pleasantly surprised that you managed to take something out of that class.”

A laugh that’s just dripping with nothing but nervousness leaks out of your lips. “I suppose I had learned just a few things…”

“Mmh,” Geto nod nonchalantly, eyes drawing back to the papers. “Well. Let’s start with the basics. Why exactly do you want to work here?”

Geto already feels the cliche comments erupting. Had the person in front of him say at least one of them, he was ready to insert the papers he was holding into the nearby shredder. Or maybe out the window this time, he wonders—something nice for a change.

“I was inspired by your work.”

“It’s been my dream to work at Kaizen.”

“Fashion is my absolute passion.”

“I want to—”

“I’m just in need of a job, really,” you say lifelessly.

He goes to raise his head slowly from the packet and turns to you slowly. Geto doesn’t say anything, but his facial expressions indicate a blend of confusion and intrigue. A slithering tongue darts out to slick his lips, indicating you’ve piqued his interest. “Well, obviously. But why this job specifically? What about it stood out to you?”

You clear your throat. “I had learned recently that Kaizen is a rather prestigious mag—”

“‘Recently’?” Geto repeats quietly. “You hadn’t heard of us before?”

Lips thinning, you shake your head slightly. His eyes go narrow again to your dread, serpent-like. “My specialty is more in newspapers rather than magazines, I-I’m not too knowledgeable in that area.”

Geto goes quiet and the silence makes the air go thick. It’s then that familiar glint sparkles in his sullen eyes when they go to examine your choice of clothing—it confirms Ino was truly right in the end, as he lets out a smile-less chuckle that doesn’t do much to ease your brain.

“Continue,” Geto gestures and takes off his glasses to look at you, or you suppose your outfit, more properly. He folds his hands and places his chin on top of them. “You said you only learned about us not too long ago?”

“Yes, and I realized that perhaps working here for a while would, at least I hope, grant me access to other media houses,” you explain. It’s only then you realize that your declaration sounds absolutely ludicrous and almost disrespectful to the editor-in-chief of the most iconic fashion magazine in the nation. “Connections are quite powerful in this day and age, haha…”

“I suppose,” Geto mumbles with not much interest in your poor humor. “What about me? I do hate bragging but surely, you know about my name or at least my fashion line?”

Your hesitant countenance and silence tells Geto all he needs to know. He thinks that it’s almost some sort of marvel that no one has heard of him or his works before.

He sighs. “Do you have any experience working in any fashion-related activities at least?”

“Well, I once worked in a department store for a few months back in high school,” you say thoughtfully (and ignorantly).

Geto gives you a blank look. His blinks are apathetically slow.

“Um,” you clear your throat again and shake your head, timid. “N-no…”

“Then tell me,” he continues smoothly. “Why exactly should I hire you? You obviously have no taste in fashion and you hadn’t even heard of my name, let alone my magazine, until recently. What is there within that makes you want to work here other than you just… what was it that you said?” He air-quotes mockingly, “‘needing a job?’”

Your throat runs dry and limbs go stiff. A heat rockets to your face when you seemingly can’t get any words out to excuse yourself, much too caught up in the same of your ignorance towards Geto’s profession. And that’s all the response he needs to make his decision.

His hand takes the packet again and to your horror that you fight to keep in, inserts it into the paper shredder. The groan of it rumbles through the room agonizingly and you realize that Ino is going to have the time of your life planning your doomsday.

Geto gives you the mercy of breaking the thick silence first. “You may go.”

With a swift flick of his wrist, Geto dismisses you with a slight edge to his murmuring as he puts back on his glasses to examine the morning newspaper to not waste any more incessant time in the day.

You don’t even attempt to fight back with any poor excuses. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, the sting of them frustrating you to your wits end. Instead, you gather the last of your resolve and bid him through a strained throat good day and make your leave, humiliation and disappointment trailing not too far behind.

You hope that Ino will give a nice eulogy, at least.

Out of all the miracles that await you in life, you do not expect the one that comes in the form of an early morning phone call that wakes you at the ass-crack of dawn. When you pick it up with sleep still very much embedded in your eyes, it dissipates in the instant you hear Manami’s voice. It’s only then that it hits you why on earth she was calling so early and why she was demanding to know your whereabouts, claiming you were going to be late on your first day of work.

You think it’s some sort of cruel joke maneuvered by Ino, especially with how his comforts from last night were mixed with taunts. But when Manami’s voice finally registers in your brain, by some sort of miracle or stroke of luck, you have gotten the job as Geto Suguru’s junior assistant.

You don’t know how, but you don’t waste any time questioning how on earth you landed in such a position because you leap out of bed at 7:23 a.m. and manage to do your morning routine in the matter of what you think is a record-breaking fifteen minutes. Your ruckus manages to wake up deep-sleeping Ino, who, when you excitedly tell him to postpone your funeral, gives a groggy thumbs up before drooling back into his pillow. It’s 7:38 a.m. when you shove on your shabby coat and you realize you only have a mere twenty-two minutes left until you have to officially clock in for work.

At 7:40, you’re out the door and sprinting to the located coffee shop that thankfully wasn’t too far from where you lived.

At 7:47, you’re at the designated cafe whilst attempting to swim through the crowds of morning bustlers to pick up Geto’s coffee.

7:50, you’re sticking your hand out waving desperately for a taxi and tip extra to make the driver speed through as you attempt to make sure the coffees don’t spill out of their containers.

7:58, you arrive at the building and just barely make it into the narrow gap of a tight-fitting elevator, earning stares from the others from your rather… frazzled appearance.

At 8:02 a.m., you dash out the elevator and officially clock in for your first day at work at Kaizen Magazine amidst a birdnest of hair, clothes that were plucked out of your hamper, and what you pray to the heavens above are hefty layers of deodorant and perfume since you were given no time to shower.

When Geto comes in that day, all suave and composed, he takes one good look at you before sighing and focusing his attention to the more refined Manami and lets her take the gears for the day. The only attention he gives you that morning is the rough toss of his heavy coat—a cashmere pearl peacoat today—flung at your arms that nearly makes you tumble from its weight.

You quickly learn that working for Geto requires high demand and maintenance, as he is not one to skip over any details in his day. Not even three hours in your first day, you already have to plan out his future meetings, reschedule one with a rather feisty and insistent client, edit a forest of emails, finishing by dashing out five blocks on foot to the two michelin star restaurant to retrieve Geto’s weekly steak for lunch. Had this been your old corporate job, you only would’ve gotten half the tasks you had completed by the end of the usual eight hours, but you realized early on that you had barely scratched the surface of your future in Kaizen.

You think that after plating his steak with the shakiest of hands, you finally have time to relax during lunch time when you see the small hand of the clock finally hit 12:00 p.m. , especially since you and him were left alone in his part of the office together. But the moment that Geto saunters into the office again, he tends to you once again with a final task by himself.

“(Y/N),” he calls from the office, the scrape of his fork against ceramic cluttering your ears agonizingly.

You fight the urge to cringe from the sound as you scurry to the doorframe, hands stiffly intertwined together. “Yes, Mr. Geto?”

“No need for such formalities,” he remarks with the dab of a napkin to his lips. “They make me feel old, and I’m surely not much older than you are…” you think that’s the longest he’s spoken to you since the day had started. “Did Leibovitz confirm?”

Blinking, you tilt your head ignorantly. “D-did who confirm?”

He pauses and does that taunting slow rise of his eyes from his steak to you. “Leibovitz. Did she confirm?”

Silence fills the office, much like the silence that drowned you back at the interview. He clicks his tongue and dismisses you with a disappointed shake of his head. “Just go on your lunch,” he mutters, sighing.

Manami, the savior that she is, is called into the office after her break and is asked the same task and you watch with humiliation whilst packing your things to go on your lunch as she picks up the telephone and speaks to someone over the line before confirming to Geto that, “I’ve got Annie!”

“He hates me, Taku!” you cry out whilst flopping onto the dinner table. It’s ten in the evening and you’ve just come home after what was supposed to be an 8-5 shift. You suppose you should be used to this already after two months of working for the Lucifer donned ritually in white in the building, but you don’t know how much your sanity (and body) can take.

Normally, Geto is usually cold to those who he wasn’t familiar with, but you think that his distaste for you sours everyday. You notice that he’s beginning to pile you with the more urgent and busier duties and that he often stares you down more menacingly in the morning with those piercing purple eyes of his, like you were gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. You thought it was just him being normal Geto Suguru, the man with the expectations higher than the clouds, and that you just were still adjusting to such a high-intensity environment, but it was today that your world came crumbling down when you overheard him muttering to his associates about you, tone icier than ever.

You were on the other side of the door, a fist going to rap on the glass with the other holding his afternoon coffee pick-me-up when you heard it.

“... can’t even do the most miniscule things right,” Geto had groaned. “I ask if Lanvin’s models are all good to go for next Thursday’s shoot and somehow, they have the nerve to ask ‘How do you spell Lanvin’? For fuck’s sake, I can feel my goddamn conscious just wither away by the second.”

You hadn’t heard Geto swear since you had started working there, but something about his venomous tone enunciating such words had made your blood run cold from the other side of the door. Not having the courage to face him after that, you left his coffee on Manami’s desk for her to tend to with a post-it note saying a sorry excuse for yourself before letting your eyes sob frustratingly in the bathroom, isolated from others.

The last time you had cried that hard was way back in childhood, where you had broken your arm from falling down a tree branch. But you think that Geto’s words had twisted through your skin and bone much harsher than that pain ever will.

“It’s a miracle how I haven’t been fired yet… I don’t even know why he hired me!” you wail.

Ino sighs from across the dinner table and you can’t tell if it’s a sigh of pity or a sigh of criticism. You learn that it’s both when he rolls his eyes at you whilst simultaneously pushing a plate of much needed food towards you.

“First off, you need to eat,” he presses, staring at your gaunt features. “The way your face is swallowing is making me feel like I’m living’ with a ghost. You’ve lost some weight, I’ve noticed.”

Awareingly, you touch your cheekbones and realize he’s right, for you feel the small disc of sharpness from them prick your fingertips. They’ve never been so cavern before. You suppose it’s because of the lack of proper meal time between your days and how you often eat small and very late dinners back at home, truly not enough needed fuel for you.

“Secondly,” Ino chews his tongue, wondering if he should really say what he’s about to say because of your current disposition but goes through with it anyway. He might as well rip the bandaid off now to let more time for the wound to heal. “You won’t like what I’m ‘bout to say, but you need to up your game. Severely.”

An aching body rises up from the table. You go to stare at Ino through glazed eyes and a pouty lip, asking him what he meant.

“Ah nope! Don’t give me that face and don’t play coy with me,” he hisses, looking away to not give in to your helpless puppy eyes. He can’t—he shouldn’t give you the easy way out and just say to quit—not when you’ve been earning so much bank that rent isn’t a problem for either of you anymore. He wonders, though, for a moment if so much money is worth your rationality.

He drags a hand down his face before placing his chin on it, examining your haggard appearance. “What I mean is that you need to see through Geto’s eyes. See what he sees when he looks at you. Tell me, if you had an assistant that showed up wearing things that looked like they were plucked from the clearance bin at a thrift store and didn’t show any respect for your brand, which just so happens to be a fashion magazine out of all things…” Ino eyes you with a raised brow. “You startin’ to follow me?”

Your fingers fiddle with each other. “... sorta.”

“Now listen,” he raises his hands up lazily in surrender. “I already know what you’re ‘bout to say about me not knowing’ how to dress in shit other than black and more black, but even I know that you should put in more effort into your appearance. That’s the first step.”

“But I have—!” you exclaim helplessly, “I-I swear, I’ve been trying to… but it’s not my fault that it isn’t up to his standards.”

Your roommate groans and rubs his forehead, not really knowing what else to do for your situation until an idea pops in his head. “Free up your weekend,” he demands with a sly grin that makes you a little uneasy. “I’m no fashion connoisseur, but you know who is?”

“And remember, we never touch anything with chevron on it, especially in today’s fashion world,” Yuki chimes as she slaps on a navy blue pageboy cap on your head and she prances about your bedroom that’s been littered with spare clothes from her very own closet she graciously gifted to you for the past weekend. “I’m so utterly relieved that the trend has dug its own grave.”

The past weekend had been filled with endless shopping trips and you shuffling in and out of clothes every minute, practicing how to pair items and colors together by Yuki’s teachings. Of course you should’ve known that Ino was going to contact the one person that he was within reach that was essentially a walking encyclopedia when it came to fashion. You’ve met Tsukumo Yuki before, found her to be quite delightful even, but you never anticipated she would be this giddy, especially about clothes of all things.

And she used her brain to good use for not only clothes, but the entirety of yourself. You never knew how much just a simple haircut could do your face along with small hints of makeup to emphasize the best parts of it. Dared not your hands go to a lash curler, but here you are now, making sure your powder compact and lipstick for the day was in your bag before you went out.

“Uh, I don’t think I ever mentioned this before yet, but thank you for helping my wardrobe out, it really means a lot,” you say just before she slides on a pair of gold bangles on your wrist. “Are you sure you wanna give these clothes to me? I’m okay with just borrowing them.”

“Nonsense, babe,” she wavers off before shuffling through your now-hearty closet, a closet that’s now bursting with many clothes given by her. “I needed space in my closet anyway, so take as much as you need.”

So (Y/N)’s closet is basically her trash can, a particular shaggy brunette thinks with a roll of his eyes. Ino fiddles with the piece of toast in his mouth as he leans on the doorway, watching as Yuki essentially treats you like her very own Barbie doll at such an odd morning hour.

“(Y/N)’s not a doll, Yuki,” Ino lazily calls aloud through a tired yawn. “You better get ‘em out the door soon or else they’ll get late for work. Especially need that money since the landlord’s been on our ass about increasing our rent…” he mutters, sniffing. “Damn bastard.”

She snaps at Ino to be quiet and let her work before she shuffles on a regal blue overcoat over your shoulders that completes your look. When you look at yourself finally in the mirror, you almost think there’s a stranger in your house from the way you look so dignified compared to the you just three days ago. It’s a simple outfit with not much layering, but it’s still enough to ooze charisma and elegance to wandering eyes. You’re adorned in a white weaved sweater with flared, light-wash jeans and white boots to match. Over the outfit lies the coat that drapes almost like a king’s mantle behind you and the pageboy cap as your crown.

Yuki creeps up behind you, her manicured hands on your shoulders affirmingly. “How’re you feeling, hun?” she asks quietly as she shares the same sight with you in the mirror. “Don’t you look wonderful?”

You know that it was all her work, it was all her creativity that made you into the artwork that you are now, so breathlessly laugh with a smile on your painted lips and thank her quietly once more before whispering, “Yeah… yeah, I do.”

Her eyes study you for another minute, going to stare at the glasses still atop your face. Yes, they were new and much more modern considering she quite literally called your old pair atrocious, snapped them in half, and tossed them over her shoulder, but she was still quite dissatisfied when you told her about your hesitance about using contacts. “Are you sure you don’t want to give contacts another chance?” she sighs.

You shake your head with a small smile, “I’ll feel completely naked without them,” you murmur, “Besides, I think they actually compliment this look, if I’m being honest.”

Her lips stretch out into a grin, too absorbed in her fashion education finally being used.

“Well then!” she begins to drag you by the sleeve out your room. “We wouldn’t want you to be late then for your first day as the new you, right? Let’s get you a cab!”

Somehow, you think you really are at your first day at work again from the way you feel that same fluttering in your stomach and from how the people you’ve once grown accustomed to seeing in the early mornings are not merely passing you with mundane nods of their heads but instead, greeting you with wide-eyed gawks and open-mouthed smiles. Some of them, a few who you knew but never spoke a word to, even do a double take and compliment you aloud on the new look. Even the cute barista in the lobby that never bothered to spell your name right at last did after finally taking a good look at the holder of the card.

When you exit out of the elevator, Manami nearly drops the pile of magazines she’s holding when she spots a refined and refreshed you. You offer a bright smile to her and you watch as her gasp slowly forms into an affirmative grin when you round your desk.

She laughs softly. “And who might you be?” she asks with a tease in her voice. “‘Cause last time I checked, that’s my coworker (Y/N)’s desk.”

“I murdered them,” you shrug nonchalantly, earning another chuckle from her. You take it as a good sign, great even, considering up until now, Manami had been rather stoic and a little indifferent towards you because of your amateurism; but now, you suppose that ditching that Plain Jane from just two days ago is finally beginning to do you good by finally grounding a proper relationship with her. “Shame, isn’t it? Poor thing.”

“Truly,” she nods. Her eyes trail further down until they spot something that makes her gasp. “Don’t tell me those are—”

“—the new calfskin gold studded Louboutin boots?” you finish for her. You flex your ankle and show off the ravishing red bottoms of your shoes. “Oh yeah.”

Manami squeals in excitement and rushes over to your desk, begging to take a look at them. “How on earth did you manage to get your hands on these?! I’ve been looking for them fo—”

The elevator dings again but with a tone that makes you and Manami flinch. Both of you stiffen and straighten out your posture, falling into a thick silence when out comes Geto traipsing out like he usually did—his aura being nothing less than dominating. You and Manami chime out in sync a good morning to him as he saunters towards his office as he begins to shuffle off his coat as usual to toss to you until he looks up and catches you in his field of vision.

He stops all of a sudden with his eyes dancing about your figure, a stark contrast to the rest of his paralyzed body. Geto’s lips thin all of a sudden, and so do his eyes when they scan your outfit. He takes in a sharp breath and opens his mouth to say something to you, yet nothing comes out, even as your eyes glisten with anticipation.

It merely instead zips itself close and he finally whisks himself into his office, coat still on and briefcase still in hand, and slams the door shut.

But not without glancing at you one last time.

Much has changed in the past month for the better.

Yuki was a godsend—she had been your guardian angel, your fairy godmother of sorts—because you swore your career life had taken a complete 180° the moment your closet was revamped. Ever since that makeover, you had felt so much more confident in your actions, so much lighter on your feet. The price of your efforts was beginning to pay off as well, as Geto began to slowly thaw his icier sense of self when you began to actually put effort into your appearance. His thrusts of his coat towards you began to become less aggressive, was significantly more lenient when it came to more of the impossible tasks, and had at one time actually muttered a ‘good morning’ to you and Manami after months of greeting with silence and judgemental glances.

She’d occasionally check up on you every once in a while, usually to offer new clothes that she didn’t want anymore. And by offer, it actually just meant packing them in a box from her place to yours with a post-it that’d usually read “With love, YT ❤” in neat cursive. Along with forming a close bond with Yuki, your relationship with Manami improved significantly, especially when you gave her those white Louboutins she was eyeing. She often invited you to lunch with her other friends, Larue and Remi.

The iconic John Galliano once said that, “The joy of dressing is an art.” A month ago, you would’ve never believed what you would think is a rather tacky statement, but now, you can truly see it to believe it. It never occurred to you to actually look at your surroundings closely, but you often would sometimes take a few seconds out of your day to admire the many colors and materials that would adorn your coworkers. Whether it be admiration for their sense of style or mild jealousy over luxurious pieces, you were finally understanding what makes fashion, fashion.

And your epiphany was awarded today with the task that you thought would never come into the light of your days working for Geto—being tasked with dropping off The Book.

The Book was a collection of pieces that were needed for the upcoming edition of the magazine, regarding it as being the most important item in the entire company. It was a duty that usually Manami tended to, but she hypothesized that you managed to finally get on Geto’s good side after a while and congratulated you. Manami spoke to you briefly about how trivial The Book was to both Geto and Kaizen. She told you about how you must guard it and Geto’s key to his penthouse with your life, and that you were to remain absolutely invisible to him if he was in the apartment. Manami told you because it was usually the hour he needed most concentration—it was during the later hours of the day that he usually mended last minute edits to the edition or he was working on his latest fashion collection since he was only able to work on it during the weekends as Kaizen took too much of his time.

Manami told you he would most likely be found on the second floor of his penthouse, and you were to remain on the first floor at all costs.

“The editors will finish The Book around 10:30 or 11:00 at night, wait in the office until then. Then, drop the book off at his penthouse at no later than 11:30 with his dry cleaning, too.”

Her words echo in your mind as you tiptoe out of the cab and look up to see a gleaming, glamorous building sitting in the heart of the city. It’s one you’ve passed a plenty of times—hell, you pass it on your way to work—but it never occurred to you that it’d be this antique white, Parisian-styled building that would be the abode of your boss.

“Take the elevator to the top floor and enter his apartment. Do not call out his name, don’t wander around, don’t even make a single sound. You are nothing more than a ghost when you step foot into his house.”

The only doors that are on the very top floor of the apartment complex are two large metal doors that sit before you. You enter the key into the keyhole and push them open with controlled force, closing them as quietly as possible with Manami’s whispers still floating about your head. You knew that Geto was certainly a man of luxury, but to see that wealth exempt in a form other than fashion was a sight that you weren’t sure if your eyes deserved to feast on. Sculptures and paintings decorated the foyer and hallway, adding occasional splashes of color to the ivory-adorned apartment. After hanging the dry cleaning in the designated coat closet, the first room you enter - and perhaps the only one you’ll ever be in - is the said living room with the glass coffee table sitting in the center of it.

“Place The Book on the coffee table in the living room. That’s it. Do not toddle any longer in his house and get out immediately. Don’t let curiosity get the better of you and just simply go afterwards. It’s for your own good.”

But oh, how curiosity is just a little devil of temptation that sits far too easily on your shoulder. A house holds the most of a person, and Geto is just an all too mysterious enigma for you not to at least dip your toe in. The doors at the end of the hallway are waiting for you, but so are the picture frames that sit atop the TV stand. You suppose… maybe another minute wouldn’t hurt.

Your feet carry you slowly to the stand and you crouch, adjusting your glasses to get a better look at the pictures. There’s only two of them—six by fours, both in oak brown frames. The first one is a picture of a smiling young girl with short chestnut hair sporting a smile with a cigarette between her teeth. Beside her are two boys taller than her, both making similar faces at the camera. One of them, the one that’s a little taller with silvery snow hair and opaque black sunglasses, throwing a forced, all-too wide grin that almost looks maniacal. It doesn’t require much brain power to know the other figure in the photo is a younger Geto Suguru, his hair shorter in a tight bun with a rare, but soft grin on his face, his gaze affectionate to the others.

The other picture is of the same two boys arm in arm with each other. Both of them are grinning now, with the white haired boy still smiling a little more largely than the other. It doesn’t take long for you to assume who the other boy was considering that the shade of purple sheathing his twinkling eyes is unique to only one individual in your life.

Best friends, you suggest in your mind as you study the pictures a little longer than needed. A minute, you thought, wouldn’t do much harm, but how utterly wrong your thoughts prove when you suddenly hear the slam of a door from the floor above. The crash of it makes you yelp and breaks you out of your trance from the pictures and your gaze suddenly snaps to the open stairs above you, as well as two voices echoing aloud.

“Y-you can’t—” an unknown voice wheezes. “I’ve been your muse for years. You possibly can’t just abandon me out of nowhere…”

“You say that as if I’m not doing that right now,” a familiar one replies back boredly. It’s Geto, and his voice makes your nerves electrify in fear because it’s in that moment that you remember that you can’t get caught inside of his house. “This is the last time I’m telling you, Shigemo. Get out.”

The man that you assume is Shigemo heaves heavy breaths. “You need me,” he declares.

“Needed. Past tense,” Geto corrects as he almost forces Shigemo down the stairs with an invisible force surrounding him. You can see their figures above you, Shigemo slowly stepping backwards with each step Geto takes forward. “You’ve done me well these few years, I admit, and I do thank you for that. But I suppose your expiration date has finally come.”

“I’m not a food,” Shigemo snivels. “I’m a person. Most importantly. I’m the reason your fashion line flourished, I was the inspiration for almost all your works. We’re essentially a team.”

They’re towards the end of the staircase, towards where you are still present in plain sight. Your eyes scatter about a place to hide in the meantime, but there are seemingly no places to hide that would hide you well without the notice of Geto’s eyes.

“A team?” Geto barks out a sarcastic laugh, one that makes shivers run down your spine from both the rarity of the sound and how utterly intimidating it is. “I work alone and I always have. There is no point on relying on anyone of any kind when my independence obviously pays off.”

“Who will you have then?” Shigemo retaliates with a whimper in his voice. “You know that I’m the only one that will tolerate you. It’s not like you can go crawling to Goj—“

“Finish that sentence and see what happens,” Geto hisses, causing the other man to fall into a forced silence.

Your eyes finally land on the small space between the fireplace and a pillar. It’s a space large enough for you to fill and efficient enough to hide you from sight. Unsticking your feet from the ground, you make a run for the small space, only for you to forget about the obstacle that was the ottoman sitting spitefully on the floor.

The thud that comes from your body almost rivals the volume of the door slamming open moments earlier and just like the door, it attracts unneeded attention. Geto and Shigemo stop their bickering for a moment to search for the cause of the sound, only to see you humiliatingly face first on the floor. Geto narrows his eyes at the sight of you, an unwanted visitor in his home.

A pained groan slips from your lips accidentally. You silently curse yourself for not taking the time to properly break into the tantalizing loafers Yuki bought you the day prior and wince at the pain blooming from your knees and chest. When you finally get up, you can’t help but notice that everything around you seems rather… hazy.

“Who is that…” Shigemo mutters.

Geto bites back a sigh and instead, pinches the bridge of his nose. He supposes that despite your improved mannerisms, your clumsiness still has yet to dissipate. Annoyed, he grunts out, “One of my new assistants.”

Shaking his head, Geto decides to deal with you later. His home is already suffocated with one individual, he doesn’t need another clogging the atmosphere up. He returns his attention back to Shigemo. “I thought I told you to leave,” he states, shoving his bag towards him.

Shigemo’s face paints a horrified expression once again. “Geto, please rethink this,” Shigemo pleads.

He lets out a chain of pleads and excuses for himself as Geto essentially escorts him out with just walking towards him, his face still icy. Shigemo ends up on the other side of the door to his penthouse and it’s there where his patheticness exudes the most—he falls on his hands and knees like a beggar, claiming he’d do anything and everything just to be by his side.

But his voice is suddenly cut short when Geto finally slams the door in his face, the thickness of them guarding him from Shigemo’s whines. He lets out another sigh and locks up the door securely before dealing with the other parasite in his house.

“I don’t think dropping off a book should take longer than thirty seconds,” Geto drawls as he saunters towards the living room, where you’re still on all fours on the floor, your hands tapping around. “So tell me, why are you still here?”

At the sound of his sharp tone, you freeze. You’re sure you looked utterly stupid and a mess right now, considering that you had just lost a fight to an ottoman out of all things, but you couldn’t let Geto see you in such a state. It didn’t take you long to realize that the reason why everything around you looked so blurry was because of your now-missing glasses that you attempted to look around for. But you pulled a Velma, and just like her, you can’t see without your glasses.

Everyone thinks it’s an exaggeration when you state that you felt utterly naked without them, but you truly did. You’ve been wearing glasses ever since childhood and you really didn’t appreciate the looks you had gotten when you were younger when at times you’d take them off. Some complained that your eyes were too small, too big—others mentioned you looked “off” and “weird” without them. Either way, comments from the other children stuck with you like scars, and ever since then, you refused to be seen without them.

“I a-apologize,” you stutter, shuffling your body to hide behind the recliner so Geto wouldn’t see how much of a clutter you are. You’ve humiliated yourself too much already in the office and the last thing you truly need is for you to get fired merely because your curiosity got the better of you. “I was about to head out and th-then I heard your voice from upstairs and—”

Your words fall deaf on Geto’s ears. He lets out another groan while stretching the aching muscles in his neck as he closes in on your disorderedness. A hand goes to shield your face—you don’t want him to see the bareness of your face, especially since you didn’t bother wearing makeup today. You can’t even bear the thought of him looking at it. In a rushed state, you wander around for your glasses with your head tucked in, using the remnants of your hair to curtain your face.

A jumble of excuses tumble out of your quivering lip, but Geto is too preoccupied with the gleam of something catching his eye. Laying flat on the floor are a pair of glasses that doesn’t take Geto long to presume who they belong to. He plucks them from the ground and examines them for a brief moment before holding them above you.

“I assume these are yours,” he asserts with a cocked brow.

Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice directly right above you and through your foggy field of vision is the seraphic figure of Geto holding what seems to be your glasses. Lips escaping a relieved gasp, you hurriedly scramble to your feet. Your eyes are too poor to see it properly, but Geto also shares surprise, but for an entirely different reason.

He doesn’t give you the sanity that is your glasses right away, because he’s much too preoccupied studying your face. It’s so… fresh. Your glasses were hiding such a view, like curtains to a window that unveiled the utmost rare and breathtaking sights. The way your eyes are wide open, pupils blown with a touch of singularity makes him even more intrigued because of how they’re uniquely placed onto your face along with the rest of your features. Your lips, plump with a natural sheen to them—your cheekbones, perfectly rounded. The slope of your nose fell just right. Geto studies it like an artist to a blank canvas, devoid of anything yet holding just the perfect amount of space—wanting, waiting to be filled with anything and everything.

When his eyes stare at you in what seems to be bewilderment, you swallow thickly and look away. But you can only glance at your surroundings for less than a second before Geto takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your face toward him again. It’s then that you realize that Geto isn’t staring at you, but your face as a whole. His eyes flick with small movements, dancing about as they go from eyebrow to lips, freckle to lash, examining each and every single particle that your face has to offer.

You feel a heat creep onto your cheeks. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the closeness you and him share or the fact that you can’t detect his opinions on the one thing you’ve been disclosed about for years, but either way, you feel weak in the knees; it only worsens when Geto’s thumb brushes over the entirety of your bottom lip, feeling the plushness of it on his the pad of his finger.

“Has your face always been this open…?” he murmurs softly as he studies the various angles of your face.

You aren’t sure whether it’s a compliment or insult, either or neither. Geto’s tone always had a sort of bleakness to it, but in this very moment, you truly can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“My glasses…” is all you manage to squeak out, fighting the urge to squirm in his grasp. Another gulp goes down your dry throat when Geto’s face contorts to an irritated confusion before he realizes his other hand holds the one thing dear to your heart.

“Oh,” he mutters and hands them back to you. His opposing hand finally goes to release your face. “Right.”

Shaking hands go to put them back onto your face again. Sighing internally of relief of your now crystal-clear surroundings, you dust yourself off with your head once more, tucked into your chest.

“I’m so sorry for this,” you whisper. The heat on your face has now spread to the entirety of your body, your nerves alight with the rush of adrenaline. “I-I’ll make sure this never happens again… good night.”

With that, you scurry yourself out before Geto has the chance to falter. All words to urge you to stay to either scold you or excuse you evaporate on his tongue. He can only watch in a strange silence as your figure rushes down the hall and out the doors, the click of them ringing out in his penthouse.

After moments of self-paralysis, an unknown feeling boils inside the pit of Geto’s stomach. He thinks he’s seen your face before with the familiarity of it unsettling him. The ghost of your face prances about in his mind as he slowly climbs the stairs to his sewing room, ignoring the shattered wine glass on the floor thrown by Shigemo. He instead, refills his own glass again with the nearby bottle of merlot wine and savoring the thickness of it running down his dry throat, embellishing in its warmth.

A single, large window faces the busy nighttime street and Geto walks and stills near it, watching carefully as the speck of your figure on the street below calls for a cab. He eyes how you turn towards the building one more time, doing your usual adjustment of your glasses (it’s a habit you often do in times of nervousness, he’s picked up) before you shuffle yourself into a cab that speeds off into the night.

Geto lets out an annoyed click of his tongue. Something about your face seems haunting and he doesn’t enjoy it. The last thing that he needed for today was even more plaguing thoughts in his head after the loss of his muse not even just ten minutes ago, but now with your face staining the back of his head, his jaw grits in irritation. In a poor attempt to take his mind off the excursion of today and the future, he shuffles about his many sketchbooks to look for any designs he could pluck out for his latest collection.

It’s an hour in, two glasses of wine later, and somehow, he still hasn’t found a single piece to begin working on that fits into his theme. Miraculously, through the vast array of what is thought to be thousands of sketches, Geto hasn’t found one that stood out to him until he gets to the last sketchbook. It’s an early one—he thinks it dates back to his early college days, when he was just beginning to peek into the world of fashion. A pang of nostalgia hits him all of a sudden when he flips to a specific page that was the start of his history.

It’s the very design that had the attention of many designers. The sketch featured a gold and red embellished outfit, a sheen of glittering flickers adorning it. The shirt features a mosaic of gold and small flecks of color here and there, imitating the many church mosaics he’d often admired as a child. The skirt and collar of the shirt were the same shade of blood red, crimson gems bespeckling them.

It’s not the outfit, however, that makes his eyes harden. Why would it? He’s seen it many times before. It’s been brought up over and over again—in interviews, in magazines. It’s one of the staples that made Geto the pillar that he is. He knows every detail of it, much like his other designs, so it isn’t the design of the outfit that made him appalled. It’s instead, the person that’s wearing it.

Because somehow, the eerie sketch of the model’s face that he had drawn years ago…

… somehow replicates your own face perfectly.

a/n: first jjk fic in forever! wowie it's been much too long... also if u need a refresher on who shigemo is, he's the guy with the ponytail that nanami pulled kekeke

10.2k is hefty i know but i couldn't help myself my bad lolol T_T currently just a test run of what i hope to be is a series that some may be interested in because clearly this barely scratches the surface of what i want to embed haha so please let me know how you like it so far :))

continuing, i hope you enjoyed and thank you for taking time out of your day to enjoy my craft, whether it be your first time or your hundredth! once more, likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and are always appreciated (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!!

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dnpbeats · 2 months

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so much about why dan loves phil and how phil changed him but what about how phil loves dan??

Okay. When I first read this ask I was like "I got nothing" lol. now obviously not because I think phil doesn't love dan, clearly I believe that he does. but you'll notice that everything I said in my dan loving gremlin phil post was based on things that dan has said. and when it comes to phil, that man is SILENT!! he keeps his mouth shut. so I was like I have nothing to extrapolate from here. but! then I realized that's not true!! bc I think phil is very obvious with his actions!

and honestly just the fact that phil lets us see how much he loves dan through his actions speaks volumes in and of itself. because phil has said so many times that he's a private person, wants to keep any relationship he has private, etc., and I think he's proved that he's serious about that based on the fact that he hasn't said jack shit about dan in the way that dan has said stuff about him.

and yet, phil SHOWS so much how he cares for dan!!! and he says things that allow us to read between the lines! like phil buying the japan tickets and surprising dan with them in 2015. we know that dan is not an impulsive person at all and likes everything to be meticulously planned out. phil knew dan was never gonna bite the bullet so phil was just like "well this is a thing that's happening now" (see also: 2009, phil telling dan to buy tickets to come visit him for the first time and 2023, phil making dan come back to the gaming channel because he knew it would be enjoyable for him again). he just knows dan so well and loves him sm that he doesn't let dan stand in the way of his own happiness. and even though phil is private he allows us see how much he cares for dan, he doesn't try to hide it at all

and then just things like. phil telling the bbc he wanted dan to do the radio show with him. phil calling dan up on stage at the boncas. phil just randomly mentioning dan on his channel(/having dan be there) while giving no context bc at this point he expects everyone to just Know who dan is. phil talking about how proud he is of dan and his book at the end of the hair cutting video bc he knew dan wouldn't let him get away with saying that shit in front of him but he just had to say it.

okay and in terms how dan has changed him/bettered him. I do not think phil was necessarily an unconfident person/struggled in the same way dan did but like obviously everyone is gonna have their own insecurities. but I really truly believe that dan just, lets phil be phil. I was rewatching some of the ditl videos the other day, and in the manchester ditl there's the iconic "phil's in his own little world again" with the fondest laugh ever. but then! london ditl, dan saying yes phil should go climb on the lion and then filming him running over to it (and then being annoyed at the guy who told phil to get off LMAO). japan ditl dan telling phil to go run over towards the bird. do you catch my drift? like phil's a lil quirky but dan doesn't love him in spite of it he loves him because of it!! he encourages phil's phil-isms bc he loves them! and then also just little things like when phil swallowed the glue and dan knew he was anxious so he talked with the paramedic and then texted phil everything that they said and that he was gonna be fine!! I think dan is probably a voice of reassurance for phil a lot. like they just both know each other so well and they know exactly what the other needs, yk?

sorry that I let this sit in my ask box for almost a week anon I just had a lot of thoughts to collect but yeah <3 that's all

#dan and phil #ask #anon #dan howell #phil lester #d&p

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youjustwaitsunshine · 28 days

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Seb helmets: the long awaited sequel

Mugello 2020:

Not on Seb's website, but still on ferraris instagram, Seb had this helmet to celebrate Ferraris 1000th gp. (in the same week, he announced his move to aston martin)

Turkish GP 2021

a beautiful sea creature design to remind us to save our oceans. i personally really love the turtles

Singapore GP 2022

gorgeous neon rainbow on super light absorbent black design. now it can be said with finality (as of yet): jens munser and sebastian vettel never missed when it was about helmets in singapore. i have a keychain of this helmet so I'm especially fond of it.

British GP 2022

ngl i cried a bit just from pulling those pictures up again. he is so loved. i love how even though we know barely anything about sebs family, this helmet shows so much personality from his kids and hanna. this is the most gorgeous helmet of them all. however, shoutout to the subtle nigel mansell design hed have driven with if his family hadn't made a secret birthday helmet for him.

Abu Dhabi 2022

I'm so so proud to be a fan of a driver who loves his fans. The few times I've met Seb, he's always taken his time - often more than allotted - to greet as many people as he could, pose for pictures sign things etc. He feels very genuine in showing his appreciation for his fans and so I think this helmet is a beautiful monument to the love people have for him. He is deeply beloved and in turn, he loves his fans and has shown this from his retirement message that was so much more personal than a press release, over the time between the announcement to his last race and beyond. This helmet is a testament to the way we love Seb and the way he loves us back.

USGP 2022

Peace and Love baby! this gorgeous woodstock inspired piece is incredibly gaudy and glittery and very unapologetically so. i love it deeply but opinions were very split on it

Japan 2022

a very cleverly done thank you to helmet provider arai. who doesn't love opening packages? especially one as beautiful as this one! it's a bit sad to not have the little ninja mascot on the helmet for sebs last f1 race in japan, however, with his 2022 helmet designs being so beautiful and elevated, he outgrew it a bit. important side note about japan 2022 here is sebs battle to the line with fernando alonso.

Hungary 2021

Let us remember this GP for the joy it brought and not the desperation that followed. Seb came, saw and served cunt in his rainbow sneakers, rainbow shirt, rainbow mask and rainbow helmet. He drove to the podium and nothing bad or terrible happened after.

Brazil 2022

the intertwined bars of the german and then, further up, the climate change flag (and the brazilian one on top) are reminiscent of the 2018 german gp helmet!

Austria 2022

The iconic bee helmet! I actually have a few pics of this one from the Austrian GP that i took myself. Even though that GP specifically sucked so hard it made Seb sway towards retiring, the helmet is beautiful and iconic.

Honourable Mentions:

- Miami 2022: the snorkel helmet! first GP underwater, also premiering sebs GIGANTICALLY OVERSIZED climate change t shirt also found in his shoo

- Canada 2022: Canadas Climate Crimes/ stop mining tar sands. this one made a politician on twitter sooooo angry. it lost her rant a bit of credibility that she directly profited from the tar sand mining.

- LGBTQ+ CLEAN OUR OCEANS (Abu Dhabi 2021): the world's to do list. i mostly have to laugh at the unlucky placement of the lgbtq+ and the clean our oceans phrase. why are the cishets exempt from cleaning our oceans? questionable.

- Race4Women: Saudi Arabia 2021. a return of the beautiful day-glow paint.

almost all of sebs helmets are either on the sebsite or deep in jens munsers archives (difficult but not impossible to find)

Seb helmet masterpost

#sebastian vettel #ive seen a few of these helmets irl at the essen motorshow and i honestly just stood there in awe #helmets like this are such an underrated art form

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thecatfight2023 · 1 year

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side B, match 1 (round 3!)

Tama: Was an official "station master and operating officer at Kishi Station on the Kishigawa Line in Kinokawa, Wakayama Prefecture, Japan."

Miette: meme icon that was kicked like the football, and wished jail on her mother for one THOUSAND YEARS

#polls #round three #tournament poll #station master tama #tama #cats with jobs #miette

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toastydoll · 1 month

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My Favorite G1'rs that Need to Come Back

I'm loving the new season of g3 so far, so to celebrate I'm making a list of my personal faves from g1 that I'd love to see in g3 again!! Plus at the end I'm gonna include the monsters I don't personally need but think will probably be back somehow :3

Gooliope Jellington! My late addition queen. I love her goopy design, I love that she's so giant compared to the other boos, I love her circus aesthetic!! Ideally her doll would be ginormous again, plus I think they could integrate some novi stars moonbow slime so she's lava lampish. At her giant size, she could probably even still have articulation plus goo! Her character could also be potentially fascinating in g3--is she the daughter of the Blob? Or are her parents mad human scientists, creating experiment 8108?

Wydowna Spider. Her design is PEAK. A doll with six arms would be so cool to see again, especially since the varying body types mean the clothes aren't meant to be swapped like before (so her unique shape shouldn't be much of an issue!). In this gen she might even be a were-spider?

River Styxx! Ever since Draculaura brought up pastel goth aesthetics in Nightmare Nightmore I've been seriously missing River. Yes, she was only in one movie, yes, it was for like thirty seconds, but her design is so creepy cute! Plus her ghost design, semitranslucent with bones peeking through, is one of my absolute favorites. Maybe more focus on her candy love?

Luna Mothews. She was done SO DIRTY in the original (sorry to those who loved her she just was not for me). As a mothman (and Mr. Mothmanson) stan, I need a mothier, West Virginian Luna. Maybe she bonds with Scarah over their shared bad luck prophecy powers. Speaking of...

Scarah Screams. I feel like we're getting a banshee in Mrs. O'Shriek considering her name (and a throwaway line about her yelling), but Scarah was such a sweet and lovely character that I'd just love to see her again. And more Irish this time too! An episode explaining the history of bian sidh lore, complete with explaining the Anglicized spelling, would be super cool!

Sirena von Boo. This is almost purely on design alone. The ghostly mermaid tail, the shadowy finned hands, the chain detailing?? She is so iconic in her design (plus her characterization was p cute). Her color scheme is similar to Spectra, so maybe an update for that. Her character could be a really interesting foray into monster afterlife this gen (aka maybe she's the ghost of a teen mermaid, not a ghost-mermaid hybrid).

Kiyomi Haunterly! Yeah, I loved the ghosts lmao. She was such a cool concept! I loved that her face was barely visible yet still there, her lesbian moments w Drac were all ADORABLE, and it was super cool to see ghost lore from Japan. If they bring back monster exchange I think she'd be so fun to see again through that route.

C.A. Cupid!! Chariclo Arganthone, we've all been missing you since 2013. Please come home to Monster High!! Absolutely adored the concept of a bone elemental, for one, plus her radio persona was so fun! I could see her hosting a matchmaking podcast in g3, plus a missed connections EekTok. Since I hc aro Deuce for g3, I think they'd make really great friends. Plus he could teach her that romantic love/matchmaking isn't for everyone!

Elissabat! With all the focus on the were-ruler this season, plus the focus last season on Dracula's PFFT title and what it meant for Draculaura, I think it could be really interesting to see the traditional Vampire Queen return to Monster High. How do tradition-dependent vampires deal with a power struggle between the original vampire royalty and the premiere, first and foremost top monster? Also getting a GOTH goth character might finally get people to stop griping about how g1 was "way gother!!"

Honey Swamp. Okay yes, same as River, she was in one (1) movie for about forty five seconds, but her crocodilian design was one of my favorites in the entire generation. I always thought she was particularly cool since Lagoona ended up more sea monster than "Creature from the Black Lagoon." Honey was the actual swamp monster!! Plus we've already got New Orleans through Apollo, so why not a little New Goreleans as well? More exploration of human cities and their monster counterparts please!

Robecca Steam. She's so far down the list, but I cannot emphasize how much I need my steampunk queen back. More goggles, more gears, more copper and steam! I loved that her father was human, which frankly could be a really cool idea to explore in g3. What are the ethics of monsters created by humans? If humans are monsters too, was Hexiciah alive during a time of peace?

Rochelle Goyle. Her design was always so classic and chic. We've seen some gargoyles in the series so far, but none of them have been animate (or made their sentience known). Plus she could be great friends with Deuce, and maybe even save the day if his gorgon gaze gets out of control.

Hoodude. I'll be honest: as much as I like the idea of a living Voodou doll, the first generation handled him like garbage. Having Frankie practice rituals from a closed religion to make herself a boyfriend was uh...yeah. G3 could take Hoodude in two interesting directions. For one, they could get a consultant who actually practices Voodou to help design the character. He would be a living doll created by a Voodou practitioner, introducing kids to the idea that Voodou is a real religion currently practiced today that isn't evil, isn't witchcraft, and is deeply culturally important. If they're not willing to put the work in (which, honestly, they've been so much better about in g3), he could also make a really fun renamed living doll/plush.

Vandala Doubloons. Another ghost who showed up for thirty seconds in Haunted? In my list? It's more likely than you'd think lmao. This is solely bc I love pirates and I love ghosts, and think a pirate ghost character is always fun. I prefer her design to Dayna Jones's, but I like the daughter of Davey Jones aspect.

Operetta. Last but absolutely not least, I need the phantom of the oprey back again! Her rockabilly pin up style was so cute and her origin story is so batty (her dad is a human, guys). Honestly she'd work so well in g3 with her "monstrous" human father!

And there they all are! My personal faves from g1, brought back into g3. Some of them are just there for the peak design, some for how their lore could work really really well w g3, all bc I love them :3

Bonus list of characters who should probably come back too (due to importance in g1/popularity):

Jackson Jekyll/Holt Hyde (hello human monster conflict!)

Casta Fierce (and Spelldon) (maybe from witch camp?)

Amanita Nightshade (unless Frankie smushed her when they dropped a gargoyle on the corpse flower)

Moanica D'cay (not g1 but a really cool zombie)

Slomo (more zombies!)

Neighthan Rot (more zombie unicorns!)

AstraNova (love an alien)

Catrine DeMew (a solid Scarisian were-cat)

Valentine (I mean. Come on.)

Gigi and Whisp Grant (except less Orientalist this time)

Inivisi-Billy (is he a ghost? is he a normie?)

Lorna MacNessie (her dad is iconic and so is she)

Ari Hauntington (again not g1, but interesting in the g3 politics)

Garrott (I just want gargoyles)

Isi Dawndancer (please hire a cultural consultant this time)

Kiersti Trollson (loved the literal troll who games)

Batsy Claro (a were-bat would be so funny guys come on please)

#mh #monster high #bring em home boys #there are of course always more that I want back #but these are my tops

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sweeter-innocence-fics · 9 months

Text

There's Always Time For Second Guesses (I Don't Wanna Know) (One-Shot)

Pairing: Tangerine x Reader

Work Summary: Tangerine x Reader Soulmate AU.

You're on vacation in Japan, trying to get away from the shitstorm that is your life, but you're not prepared for what's waiting for you on the bullet train to Kyoto.

Rating: Teen and up.

Word Count: 3519

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist: @mcximffs @noz4a2 @rottenstyx @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye

Notes:

Warnings for snakes and sadness, general assassin stuff, blood.

Timeline probably doesn't line up with the timeline of the movie, whoops.

---

It was supposed to be fun. The sort of relaxing faux-adventure you get from travelling to the tourist-y destinations of another country. The precursor to a fresh start after everything in your life had gone to shit.

But that wasn’t meant to be. Your carefree vacation had turned into a nightmare over the course of a few hours.

There were people with guns on this train. There was a dead man bleeding out of his eyeballs. Over the course of your journey, the number of train passengers had thinned out, and none of them seemed as worried as you felt. It was like no one else was paying attention. You needed to get out of here, but the next stop wasn’t for another thirty-five minutes.

Heart in your throat, you decided to take your backpack and hide in a bathroom. It was close to one of the exit doors. You would wait until the train was pulling into the next station, and then you would run for it.

That was your plan at least. You sat yourself down on the closed lid of the toilet, trying desperately to forget the face of the blood-covered man. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you knew exactly how to distract yourself. You’d packed your vacation to the brim, trying to leave yourself as little space for quiet reflection as possible. Maybe this was your penance. Now was the time to think about everything that had brought you here.

For starters, your boyfriend of four years had found his soulmate. It wasn’t as if you’d never considered this eventuality. After all, things like that happened all the time.

You weren’t ready, though, when you came home and found him sitting at the kitchen table with an expression half-guilty, half-ecstatic, the back of his hand stained a bright red.

He had tried to let you down gently; he really had. You hadn’t wanted him to feel guilty, either. It just as easily could’ve happened to you. You wished him the best, and then, when he was gone, you’d cried for three days.

A few days later, you’d found out that the company you worked for was ‘downsizing’ and you hadn’t made the cut. Redundant and freshly unwillingly single, you packed up everything you owned into your car and drove back to your parents’ house.

They had welcomed you back with open arms, but you could see the pity in their eyes. You hated that pity. So you made a decision. You took your redundancy money and decided to go on a trip.

You’d never been to Japan before, even though you’d always meant to. It was an exceptionally beautiful country, but you were still miserable. You had hoped that travelling would decrease the desire to check your ex’s Instagram for pictures of him with his new girlfriend, but it was still a compulsion that you were struggling to break.

You should just delete the app. It’s not like you posted much anyway. As you opened your phone and pressed on that little colourful camera icon, you heard a low hiss.

Your thumb paused over the Instagram app. “Huh?”

Probably the plumbing. It didn’t sound like any pipes you’d ever heard before, but Japanese toilets were different from the ones you were used to. Even though you weren’t using the toilet, you decided to flush, just in case.

A shape caught the corner of your eye, and before you could properly process what you were seeing, a scream ripped its way out of your throat.

A small, yellowish-brown snake slithered had slithered out between your legs. You launched yourself into the door, cursing the lock as you did so. Your fingers fumbled over it, and then, after an agonising moment, managed to unlock it.

You spilled out of the room and almost collided with a man in the process. You stumbled backwards, slamming the door and praying that the snake was now trapped inside.

Feeling unsteady, you almost lost your balance when a warm hand wrapped around your forearm, helping you stay upright. The man’s skin was hot against yours. Too hot. It burned.

He leapt back from you suddenly, and you fell into the wall, stabilizing yourself with one hand. Your eyes darted over him, trying to assess whether he was a threat.

With a jolt, you realised that you recognised him. You had seen him and another man talking to the dead man earlier. He was tall and handsome, with piercing blue eyes, but now, his hair was dishevelled and there were splotches of blood on his clothes.

You took a step back, away from him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was staring at his hand.

It shimmered, like gold paint. A soulmate mark. Unbidden, your eyes found the spot on your arm where he touched you. It still burned. It had turned a rich, dark blue.

He looked at you then, his eyes roving over your face, trying to take you in. Your cheeks heated up under his penetrating gaze.

“There’s a snake in the bathroom,” you blurted out. You clutched your arm to your chest, cradling it through the burning ache. The man in front of you flexed his hand, and you realised that he must’ve been feeling the same thing. As you glanced at the now closed bathroom door, you had a sinking feeling of dread. “I left my backpack in there.”

“It’s okay, love. I’ll get it back for you.” He smiled at you then, and when you smiled back, you realised that you had never really been in love before.

Your ex was forgiven, the pain forgotten. If his girlfriend made him feel half as good as you did now, how could you possibly blame him for choosing her over you?

As he guided you back into the carriage, gesturing for you sit down, your smile faltered.

“Be careful? Please?”

He chuckled a little at that. “Don’t worry, love, I’m a professional. Just stay here and keep your head down, okay?”

Your heart thudded as you watched him retreat. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to breathe. Today had been quite the day. You were sure you were going to cry as soon as you got away from this train.

A moment later, your soulmate returned, holding your rucksack. He put it on the seat beside you.

“You need to get off this train, love. It’s not safe here anymore.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

“Okay. We get to Nagoya in…” He checked his watch. “Twenty-five minutes. Let’s find somewhere to lay low.” There was no question as to whether or not you would go with him. Your trust in him was implicit and biological. In the space of a moment, he was yours and you were his. He took your rucksack again and slung it over his shoulder.

He took three steps and then stopped, turning back to you. “I don’t even know your name,” he said, almost apologetically. You gave him your name, and watched that smile spread across his face again. “Tangerine,” he said in response.

“Tangerine?”

“That’s my name. Tangerine.”

You were sure he was lying to you, but you could get into that later. He led you down the train until he found some unoccupied private cabins. He even held the door open for you so that you could go in first.

He was nothing if not a gentleman, evidently. You sat down in the seat next to the window and pulled your legs up onto it, hugging your knees. Tangerine put your bag in the overhead storage and then slid into the seat opposite you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just looked at each other. This was the man that fate said you were going to spend the rest of your life with, whether you liked it or not.

He was certainly very handsome. He was smooth and polite and well-dressed (or at least he had been, earlier). Other than that, you knew almost nothing about him. There was one thing you were sure about though: he was dangerous.

“I saw you and your friend talking to that man earlier. The one who died,” you said.

His lips turned down. “My brother.”

“Sorry?”

“Not my friend. My brother.”

“Your brother,” you repeated. “Where is he?”

Tangerine looked out of the window, frowning. “Dead.”

Your stomach gave a lurch. “What?”

He turned his eyes on you again, and took a deep breath, like he was steeling himself. “There’s some things you should know about me, sweetheart. I am not a good person. I am not a safe person. If you stay with me then you could get hurt.” As he spoke, you felt your stomach sinking. “Me and my brother, we’re- we were- are assassins.”

He shook his head slightly. Until he’d stumbled over his words, the speech had sounded practised. You wondered if he had prepared for this exact moment, when he would meet his soulmate.

“What happened to your brother?” you asked in a small voice.

He sighed deeply. “We were hired to retrieve something. A briefcase. And a person. Trouble is, someone else was hired to kill that person.”

“The man who was bleeding out of his eyes.”

“Right. Seems like this whole train is full of assassins. One of them took Lemon out. That’s why I need to get you out of here. I can’t lose another person today.” His eyes were starting to look very shiny. His hand was curled into a fist on his knee. Cautiously, you reached out and put your hand over it.

You watched as his expression smoothed out. His hand relaxed, and he let you turn it over, taking it between both of yours.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” you said softly.

“…Thanks.”

“You’ll come with me, right? When I leave the train?” you asked.

“I have to finish this job.”

“Why?”

“There’s people who’ll kill me if I don’t.”

“Sounds like there’s people who’ll kill you if you do.” For a moment, he smiled again. It was a reluctant smile, but it was still beautiful, because he was beautiful.

“You’re probably right about that. But still. I have to see this through. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Frustration was edging into your voice. “What could be worth that?”

He didn’t answer right away. He ran his free hand through his hair, turning back towards the window. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“Okay. I’ll come with you. There’s nothing left for me here, anyway.”

You squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

“What about you then? What brings you here? You’re not a local.”

It was your turn to frown. “I guess I was just looking for a distraction.”

“Well, you certainly found one.”

His expression was relaxed again. So you found yourself telling him everything. Your job. Your ex. Your parents. Everything that had been going wrong in your life that had led to you being here. He listened, lacing your fingers together and rubbing over the skin of your palm with his thumb.

The overhead announcement that you were about to pull into Nagoya almost made you jump. It hadn’t felt like twenty-five minutes had passed. Your heart began to speed up again.

Tangerine got to his feet and pulled your rucksack out of the rack above your head. Reluctantly, you stood up too. He swung the bag over one shoulder, and then held out a hand to you. When you didn’t immediately take it, he wiggled his fingers at you.

Okay. So he was cute too. Trying to suppress a smile, you took his hand.

It was a straight shot to the exit. There was a stretch of corridor about ten feet long, and then you would be off the train. You were almost at the door when Tangerine swore loudly, and then pulled you into the space next to the luggage storage.

You squeaked, almost losing your balance, but he put both hands on your shoulders. As the train pulled to a stop, his hands were the only things stopping you from falling into him.

“What’s wrong?” you asked once you’d got your feet under you.

“The man who hired me has got guards on the platform. If I try to get off this train, they’ll kill me.”

It felt like you’d been dunked in a bucket of ice. You’d been so close to getting away.

“What do we do?”

His expression was serious. “You need to get off the train.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off. “They don’t know you have anything to do with me. You’re just another passenger. They won’t bother you. Take this.” He pulled a wallet out of his pocket and grabbed a handful of cash. “Rent a car. Drive to Kyoto. I’ll meet you there.”

“Tangerine…”

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was scribbling something down on a scrap of paper. As he slid it into your hands, you saw it was a phone number.

“I know today must’ve been terrifying for you,” he said. “So if you don’t call me, I won’t hold it against you. My life is dangerous. I’d hate for you to get hurt. So if that means living without you…” He swallowed. “I can live with that, okay?” You gritted your teeth. Your eyes were stinging. “Come to Kyoto. Or don’t. I’ll understand either way. Okay?”

Your heart was beating hard enough to hurt. You were almost surprised he couldn’t hear it. This beautiful, stupid, dangerous man. You had only just met him, but you’d do anything for him. Even leave, if that’s what he wanted you to do.

You pushed up onto your tiptoes and kissed him. It was a clumsy graze of your lips against his, but before you could rock back on your heels, he grabbed your face and kissed you back properly. You gripped the front of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but he pushed you away.

“You need to get off the train,” he said again, looking almost bereft.

You pulled him down to steal one last kiss. “I’ll see you in Kyoto.”

He handed you your rucksack. Resolute, you slipped it on and made your way out into the corridor. With your chin held high, you walked down the little steps off the train and onto the platform.

There were a lot of men in suits milling about, but as Tangerine had predicted, they paid no attention to you. You walked straight over to the car rental office without looking back.

The drive to Kyoto was almost two hours. The bullet train would’ve got you there in under forty minutes. You drove the speed limit, rucksack thrown haphazardly into the passenger seat, no question of stopping any time soon, but you still felt Tangerine getting further away from you with every minute.

There had been a lump in your throat ever since you’d left him behind. It would be just your luck to meet your soulmate and then have him die after you’d known him for less than a day.

You couldn’t think like that. You’d never make it to Kyoto if you had a mental breakdown on the drive there. Your eyes darted down to the new patch of blue colour on your arm. It was still as vivid as it had been when he’d first touched you. He was alive. That made it a little easier to breathe.

You were twenty minutes outside Kyoto when you reached the roadblock. There were police everywhere, and no way through. They were trying to direct you down a diversion, but you weren’t having that.

You pulled over to the side of the road and got out. You put on your best clueless tourist face and walked right up to the roadblock.

“Excuse me? Do you speak English?” you asked one of the cops. He held up a hand, telling you to wait, and then went over and spoke to another officer.

The second cop came over to you. “English?” he said.

“Yes. What happened here? Why is the road closed?”

He grimaced at you. “Bullet train derailed. Very bad.”

Your heart seized. You glanced down at your arm again. Still blue. His eyes traced the movement of your gaze right down to your soulmark, and a look of understanding crossed his face.

“My soulmate was on a train to Kyoto,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Not many people on this train. We found no survivors. Only dead.” At the expression on your face, he grimaced again. “Probably not your soulmate. Lots of trains come through here. Maybe on the next one?”

“Maybe,” you said shakily. “Thank you.”

He didn’t say anything else as you turned around to go back to the car. You slid into the driver’s seat, and took a shuddery breath.

Slowly, you unzipped your rucksack and rifled through it, looking for your wallet. In your hurry to get here, you had stuffed it into the top of your bag.

You flipped it open, and there, folded up in the space that used to hold a picture of you and your ex-boyfriend, was the scrap of paper with Tangerine’s phone number on it.

You smoothed it out on your lap. His handwriting was messy – though given the circumstances, you could hardly blame him – but it was still legible. With trembling fingers, you typed the number into your phone.

It was answered before the first ring had even finished.

“Hello?” Tangerine’s voice was in your ear, and your relief came in the form of a rush of tears.

“Tangerine?” you asked, and he said your name in return.

The rest of the phone conversation was hazy. You were crying through it. Eventually, he told you that he’d text you an address, and you needed to meet him there. You promised him you would.

It was dark by the time you drove up to the hotel. You pulled into a parking space, turned your engine off, and paused.

You were sure you looked a mess. You’d been crying on and off for hours. You looked at yourself in the rearview mirror and frowned.

“Stop being an idiot,” you muttered to yourself. Tangerine was your soulmate. He wouldn’t care if you were a mess. You took a few deep breaths, and then got out of the car.

The lobby wasn’t manned, so you went straight for the elevator. The floor numbers were handily written in both Japanese and English, so you hit the button for Tangerine’s floor and watched the doors slide closed.

It was very quiet here. The hum of traffic that had kept you company for hours seemed very far away now. You rubbed at your face, trying to get rid of any evidence of tears, to no avail. The elevator dinged.

Jittery, you made your way down the hallway and found the number of Tangerine’s room.

Here goes nothing.

You knocked on the door. There were footsteps, and a moment later, it opened a crack. A dark brown eye peeked out at you.

You were about to start apologising, saying that you had the wrong room, when the man took a step back, opening the door wider, and you recognised him as the man Tangerine had been with earlier. The man he’d called his brother. The man who he’d said was dead.

“Tan!” he called over his shoulder. “It’s for you.”

You heard another door slam shut, frantic footsteps, and then there he was, standing in the doorway.

He was wearing a white bathrobe. His hair, which had been slicked back earlier, was damp and curly. You liked it better that way.

He was no longer covered in blood, but you could see a couple of nasty cuts and bruises. You moved towards each other at the same time. He opened his arms and you stepped in.

He smelled like soap and aftershave. His skin was damp wherever it pressed against yours. He was so attractive that you felt a little light-headed.

A small, gasping sob escaped from your lips, and he immediately drew you tighter into himself, holding you.

“Shh, shh, love, it’s okay,” he murmured, guiding you back into the room. The door fell closed behind you.

You stood there for a moment, clinging to him like a lifeline. For his part, he seemed perfectly content to let you try to burrow your way into his chest.

Somewhere behind him, someone cleared their throat. Feeling a little embarrassed, you pulled back to see Tangerine’s brother lounging on a bed, a book propped open on his lap.

“If you two are gonna carry on like that, I’m gonna get my own room,” he said.

Tangerine chuckled, and then pressed his lips to your temple. “That’s probably for the best. Love, this is my brother, Lemon.”

“I thought you said he was dead?”

“It’s a long story, sweetheart. Come on. Let’s get room service.”

---

'‘Cause there’s always time for second guesses, I don’t wanna know If you’re gonna be the death of me, that’s how I wanna go.'

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #aaron taylor johnson x reader #tangerine bullet train

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