#cs.task

[theinnocentflowwer]

[herxtiic]

[cptdubois]

Herbert on Instagram—

Herbert’s not so widely known personal instagram account has been mistaken for a fake one by too many people for far too long. Not that he uses it that much, anyway.

[queenofspain]

Annette + Instagram AU

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

Marie’s Instagram serves two purposes. The first (and most important) is to showcase her work, but she’ll also post anything pretty she sees during her day, so there are a lot of pictures of flowers or of animals. She also loves taking photos of her friends, so you’ll always be able to tell who she’s been spending time with, because she’ll force them to take selfies with her. 

[wildernessinman]

Task 9 | Social Media

In which Santiago has a Facebook page he never really uses, consisting only of pictures of scenery, dorky selfies, and occasional memes only he thinks are funny.

(click for full size)

[crossedswordsrp]

The ninth official task is Social Media! We’d love for you all to delve a little deeper into your characters in an unusual way! For this we’re asking you to imagine what your character might be like on one, or as many as you’d like, social media accounts. This could range from edits, text posts or a list of headcanons! Consider maybe how your character might use social media as a platform to get a particular opinion across — or maybe a certain side of their persona.

Below the cut, see a selection of easy to edit PSDs.

Here’s a small collection of easy to edit PSDs:

Group Chat

Feeling Oldschool? MSN

Instagram

Twitter

Spotify

Misc

[simone--baptiste]

Why? | Task

Simone waited outside her father’s bedroom door, the candlelight illuminating the scratch paper she was using to practice her writing. From the room across the hall, she could hear her brothers’ soft snores—or in Fernand’s case, his mumbled words—giving her a comfort as she waited for Papa to come home. She had perfected the odd shape of the ‘Q’ when her father’s heavy footfalls echoed on the floor. Moments later, his familiar face peeked above the stairs, the smell that wafted from him telling her that he was at the tavern before coming home.

“Simca?” he asked in a surprisingly clear voice. “Why are you still awake?” She started to put her quill and ink bottle away, a knot that had been growing in her stomach for the past few days beginning to gnaw at her.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she said as she stood, guarding the door to stop him from going inside as he approached her.

“Can it wait until morning?” he murmured tiredly, reaching for the door. She shook her head adamantly and looked up at him. "Simca," he stated, his voice louder and more stern, "it's late and I've had a long day." Still, she refused to move from her place in front of the door.

“Papa,” she said, her body shaking as she tried to keep him from dismissing her for his bed. “Why did you adopt me?” The question came out louder than she had wanted it to and for a second she feared that Fernand and Émile had woken up. Their soft murmurs of sleep that filled the hallway after assured her that they were not awake.

After a moment, François sighed and stopped trying to open the door. “Because I wanted you."

“Why didn't my parents want me?” she countered. It was the real question that had been bothering her since she could remember; the one she thought of whenever she saw a parent with their child.

He paused, as if debating on whether she could handle the truth at that moment. “Children are abandoned all the time.”

She swallowed, her voice shakier than it had been before. “But why me? What's wrong with me?”

“Did someone say something to you, Simone?” he asked, anger clear in his voice. “Where is this coming from?”

“No,” she lied. She was alone and a boy had said something to her, accusing her of being her Papa's pet. Why else would he have picked up a dirty old orphan? Despite getting her revenge on him, his words stuck with her, eating her up inside. She wanted to ignore them and believe that she wasn't just her father's charity case, but it just wouldn't go away. “I just want to know. Émile knew his mother. And Fernand has you--”

“You have me too, Simca.” He knelt in front of her, placing a heavy hand on her shoulders. “I wish I could tell you about your parents and answer any questions you might have, but I don’t know anything.”

She looked up at him, held back tears stinging her eyes. “But why would they leave me to die?” Why not an orphanage? Why not anywhere except nestled between a couple of crates for no one to see?

“You don’t always get to know why, Simone.”

His response made her push him away. He hadn't answered any of her questions and he had somehow made her feel worse. She narrowed in on her anger, preferring that fire over the anguish that was threatening her. “Then why did you keep me? Why not do what my parents didn’t and leave me at an orphanage? The Court of Miracles is full of orphans but you’re not adopting any of them!” Her hands were clenched at her side, looking at him accusingly. That boy was right. She was just her father's pet.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him, her feet dragging on the floor. “Simone,” he said softly, trying to draw her eyes to him. She stubbornly stared at the floor, but his thumb nudged her chin up to look at him. His eyes were kind with an understanding there that she didn’t expect to see. “When I found you, I thought for sure that you were dead. You were as cold as ice, you had no fat on you, and it looked as though you’ve been out there for days. But you weren’t dead." He cupped her cheek in his hand. "You are strong, Simca. Strong enough to survive what most other children could not. That is why I kept you. That is what makes you my daughter.”

She looked at him, the tears finally sliding down her cheeks. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, clinging to him as her body shook with silent cries. Her father hugged her to him, rubbing her back gently until she finally calmed down. They stayed that way for awhile, the only sound coming from either of them being Simone’s soft sniffles. “Come now,” he finally said. “It’s late." She nodded against him and pulled away, wiping away any stray tears with the back of her hand. "Don’t wake your brothers when you go to bed.”

“Yes, Papa,” she said softly. He placed a kiss on top of her head and murmured a soft goodnight before he finally opened his door and disappeared inside.

She sniffled as she gathered her paper and ink bottle. Her steps hardly made any noise as she slid inside of her own bedroom and put away her things. She crawled into bed beside her brother and slept easily for the first time in days.