#yves soft pictures

[loona-wallpapers]

Yves' photoshoot + Chuu at Blue Dragon Series Award

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

and in spirit of the last post… what do the lnds guys smell like to you?

i think this is probably a general scent question. im not rlly into scents / fragrance but im gonna assign them some for fun !!!! but im just yapping 🙂‍↔️ so dont hold it against me

zayne - he smells a like generic white soap to me. soft and lightly floral. sometimes a little bit like isopryl alcohol i think and other kind of chemicals bc of work lol. surprisingly unisex scents preferred. picture him wearing / smelling like soleil neige by tom ford.

caleb - cant describe it other than he smells like a man no matter what. like overwhelmingly. musky but not in an unpleasant way, even if he's sweaty. when he cleans up and puts cologne on i think he puts on kourous silver by yves saint laurent.

sylus - this one was hard rip. i know natural inclination is that he usually smells like leather. but i think his scent is more inviting. kind of like dark wood if that makes any sense. its hard to describe. imagine him wearing nerotic by laboratorio olfattivo

rafayel - he smells so good in my mind. its very light and inviting but not overpowering. a sweet citrus scent. there's a very very light ocean scent but in soothing way, like when you catch it in the wind. i think he probably cycles through a lot of expensive colognes but am assigning him millesime imperial by creed.

xavier - smells like linen like overwhelmingly and also smells rather sweet. kind of powdery. but there's a very very distinctly metallic and kind of smokey note it if that makes any sense at all. there's a specific and somewhat controversial scent im thinking of but for sake of fairness assigning him blanche bete by liquid imaginaires for what he puts on. sweet and unisex.

[wistfulwanderingone]

"Borrowed Stars"

- Clavis Lelouch & Cassandra Bellerose (Ikemen Prince)

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Characters: Clavis Lelouch & Cassandra Bellerose (OC)

Pairing: Clavis Lelouch x Cassandra OC

Genre: Romance/Angst

Word Count: ~4150

Summary:

She was supposed to smile, curtsy, and stay in her place. He was supposed to laugh, tease, and never look twice.

And when he takes her hand, the music inside her finally begins. But dancing with Clavis is never just a dance

Shout out to @dicenete for this stunningly beautiful and perfect picture of Clavis and Cassandra's moment from this fic! I love Dice! Talented is an understatement! If you are not aware of her art, GO CHECK HER OUT! And thank you again, Dice, I love this and YOU!

The palace courtyard hummed with jubilant energy, alive with the swirl of vibrant summer silks, the bright echo of laughter, and the lilting, merry strains of music that wove through the warm evening air like a playful breeze. The rhythmic clap of dancers’ heels against the polished stone punctuated the melody, each beat a call to movement, a heartbeat of revelry. Lanterns swayed overhead, their golden glow flickering across the dancers, casting their spinning forms in shifting halos of light.

The Sun and Rose Festival was a spectacle of motion—joyous, unrestrained, dazzling. The courtyard smelled of warm spiced rose wine, the golden sweetness of honeyed pastries, and the faint floral undertone of the palace roses that bloomed all around them. A soft breeze carried hints of lavender and orange blossoms from the garden beyond, mingling with the rich musk of perfumed nobility and the whisper of candle wax melting in the lanterns above.

Cassandra remained on the fringes, fingers absently tracing the delicate embroidered edge of her handkerchief. The fabric was soft beneath her fingertips, yet tightly held, as though grounding her in place. The scent of celebration—candied nuts, cinnamon, laughter itself—brushed past her like an invitation.

And yet, she hardly noticed.

Her gaze was fixed on the dancers.

They moved fluidly, bodies flowing with the rhythm of the music, lost in the gaiety of the night. The fabric of their gowns rippled like water, catching the lantern light in luminous waves. The men led with confidence, their hands firm yet fluid as they guided their partners in perfect synchrony. The women’s skirts swished in bright bursts of color, the sound whisper-soft, a hush of silk against stone.

It was a kind of abandon she had never allowed herself at these events.

The longing thrummed in her chest, quiet and aching—like the first notes of a song she didn’t know how to play.

She had always loved dancing—even though it was structured, it was somehow freeing, like a butterfly riding the wind. The thought sent a shiver of longing through her, as if her very bones ached to move.

But…if she stepped forward, if she dared to seek the attention of a gentleman in hopes of being asked, the risk of misstepping—of embarrassing herself and her family—was far too great.

Better to remain in the shadows, unseen, untouched by the possibility of failure.

Her fingers tightened around the soft fabric of her handkerchief.

And Cassandra remained rooted in place, her heart pounding with a longing too fragile to name.

She wasn’t sure where Yves and Licht had gone. Usually, they were at her side at these noble gatherings, a quiet buffer against the press of unfamiliar faces. But tonight, they were absent, likely called away for some last-minute royal duty.

Movement caught her eye—a lady twirled in her partner’s arms, laughing as the world spun around her. Cassandra’s fingers tightened around her handkerchief, crumbling the once starched and pressed fabric. If Yves were here, he would have scoffed at the dramatics. If Licht were here, he would have stood at her side in quiet solidarity. But they weren’t. And without them…

She was alone.

Without them, she felt exposed.

Her eyes returned to the dancers.

If only… she wasn’t herself.

Clumsy.

Awkward.

A constant source of disappointment for her family.

Because—

She wanted to dance.

She wanted to be free.

She longed to twirl in the golden twilight, to feel the breeze in her hair, the warmth of the fading sun on her skin. To let herself go in a dizzying spin, laughing, unafraid.

For just a moment, she let herself imagine it. The press of a partner’s hand at her waist, guiding her effortlessly across the courtyard. The way the air would rush past her cheeks as she twirled, golden light spinning around her like a dream. The laughter—her own—spilling out, weightless and free. But then—

Her foot shifted, just barely. A single step forward—then stopped. Her hand clenched around her handkerchief, dragging her back to reality.  No. No, she couldn’t.

If only.

A sudden burst of laughter caught her attention—Clavis.

Of course a prince like him would be in the thick of it all, effortlessly commanding the space as though the festival itself existed only for his amusement. The people around him laughed, drawn in by his charisma, his ease, the way he belonged to the moment so completely.

He had no fear of being seen.

Such a painfully sharp comparison to her own hesitance.

A noblewoman swept past, her skirts brushing against Cassandra’s as she leaned in to whisper to her partner. Cassandra caught a single phrase—“poor girl, always on the edges”—before it was swallowed by the music.

She turned away, letting her feet carry her along the edge of the festivities, tracing the border between belonging and observing.

And then—

Her foot snagged—too fast, too sudden. The world lurched. The bright blur of silks and lanterns spun around her as she pitched forward, breath catching in a sharp gasp. She lurched forward, her hands instinctively reaching for anything to catch her fall.

The cold stone scraped against her palms. The music didn’t stop. No one rushed forward. She was just… there, fallen, sprawled in a heap of pink silk and lace like a wilted rose among a field of perfect blooms.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she pushed herself up. Surely—surely someone would offer a hand? A kind word? Even just a whisper of reassurance?

But there was nothing.

The music continued. The dancers spun. And then—

A shadow loomed over her.

The music swelled around them, but in this moment, she could only hear the sound of her own heartbeat.

Then—

“You are alarmingly lacking in composure.”

His voice was calm, smooth—final. Like a verdict rendered before the trial had even begun.

Her stomach twisted. She’d heard that voice before.

And with the sound of that voice came the echoing words of her parent’s into her mind before she even dared to lift her head.

"Cassandra, you must be mindful of your reputation. The only princes worth associating with are those of proper noble birth."

"Prince Chevalier and Prince Leon—those are the ones you should focus on. They are respectable, powerful men with pure bloodlines. Their favor would benefit you greatly.”

"Prince Clavis," her mother had sighed, disapprovingly. "His blood may be royal, but his mother was nothing more than a servant to Lady Michel. He is a fool. He will never be an equal to Chevalier."

"And as for the others—" her father had frowned. "Prince Yves has Obsidian blood in his veins. Prince Licht and Prince Nokto are the sons of a peasant. No matter how charming some of them may seem, you must remember who holds real power in this court."

A slow dread pooled in her chest.

Of all the people to fall at the feet of, it had to be him.

She lifted her gaze, and there he stood—Prince Chevalier.

The first thing she noticed was his presence—cold, commanding, utterly unshaken by the chaos of the festival around them. His pale blond hair fell effortlessly into soft waves, a few unruly strands drifting across his sharp, icy blue eyes. His expression was unreadable, carved from quiet steel, as if nothing in the world could rattle him. He looked like something out of a legend—distant, untouchable, a figure more suited to commanding an army than standing amidst a celebration.

But it was his gaze that struck her the most. Sharp, assessing, with an intelligence that dissected rather than observed. There was no amusement there, no warmth—only the cool, clinical regard of a man who saw people not as companions, but as calculations. And in this moment, she was an equation unworthy of solving. His black gloved hands remained at his sides, making no move to assist her.

Cassandra felt her face burn, not just from the fall, but from the sheer weight of his scrutiny.

Heat flared up her neck as she forced herself to her feet, brushing dust from her gown with as much dignity as she could salvage.

She lifted her chin, a flash of something tight rising in her chest—humiliation, anger, something unnamed. But then—her mother’s voice rang in her mind. "Grace is silent. Poise is effortless."

She swallowed it down and dropped into a curtsey.

“I must apologize for my alarming lack of grace, Your Highness,” she said, willing her voice to remain steady.

Chevalier tilted his head slightly, as if assessing her response. His gaze flicked over her once more, cool and indifferent, before he turned away without another word.

As if she weren’t worth further acknowledgment.

Her fingers clenched around the lace of her handkerchief, the delicate embroidery pressing into her skin like a brand.

Not a parting word. Not even a backward glance.

As if she had never been there at all.

Her pride felt crushed beneath her ribs, a silent dissonant chord with no resolution. She had always known Chevalier was formidable. That he was brilliant, a mind sharper than any blade. He was the bloody tiger, after all—unyielding and precise, a predator who struck without hesitation. He would strip apart anything he deemed worthless. But this was the first time she had felt the sheer weight of his presence.

Or rather, the way he made her feel small beneath it.

She told herself it shouldn’t sting. That she shouldn’t care. That his indifference meant nothing.

But the truth settled deep in her chest, heavy and bitter.

It did sting.

Her nails dug into her palm as she clenched her fists, knuckles taut with restrained fury. The echoes of laughter, the festival’s golden glow, the spinning dancers—all of it blurred beneath the quiet sting of humiliation, heat rising hot and bitter in her chest.

She was still standing where he had left her. Still a foolish girl who had thought—

A hand settled lightly on her shoulder.

“Well, now. I must say, that was quite the performance, dearie.”

Clavis.

His golden eyes sparkled with mischief as he stepped beside her, his lips curved into that signature grin of his—like he was in on a joke the rest of the world had yet to catch up to.

Cassandra gave him a sidelong glance. “Tell me, do you just lurk around waiting for moments like this?”

He hummed, tapping his chin as though deep in thought. “This is serious. You’ve caught the attention of our beloved ice prince, and rather spectacularly, too. I daresay he’ll remember you for at least a full minute.”

Cassandra grimaced. “I wish he’d remember me for even less.”

Clavis let out a delighted chuckle. “Oh, but my dear, you’ve made quite the impression. A debut worthy of legend! A tumble so grand even Chevalier took notice.” He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Would you like me to arrange for a second fall? Just to really solidify the memory?”

Cassandra shot him a glare. “I think I’ve done enough damage for one evening, thank you.” She smoothed out her skirts with a huff. “And if you’re offering to trip me, I’d like to remind you that I have very sharp elbows.”

He pressed a gloved hand to his chest, feigning deep offense. “Lady Bellerose, you wound me. I would never—” he cut himself off with a smirk. “Well, not intentionally. But if it did happen, purely by fate’s hand, I’d be sure to make it look especially tragic. Perhaps right into a conveniently placed fountain?”

His smile didn’t falter—but there was something glimmering behind his eyes, too fast to catch. Something almost familiar, if she’d known to look for it. Like he understood exactly how it felt to stumble in front of the world and wish the ground would swallow you whole.

She let out an exasperated sigh, brushing dirt from her dress. “You know what’s tragic? The fact that the ground hasn’t swallowed me whole so I could happily vanish into the night.”

Clavis clicked his tongue. “Ah, but where would be the fun in that? No, no. If we’re rewriting the narrative, we must turn this into a triumphant redemption arc! The girl who rose from the ashes of mortification to steal the very breath of the kingdom’s most untouchable prince.”

Cassandra snorted, shaking her head. “Yes, because I’m sure nothing captures his heart faster than graceless flailing.”

“Mm, well,” Clavis mused, tilting his head in mock consideration, “it’s not your strongest selling point, no. But there is a certain charm in unpredictability.” His golden eyes gleamed with mischief. 

“I live for these unpredictable moments, my dear. But fear not, I shall redirect the narrative in your favor. From this moment on, the tale of Cassandra Bellerose’s infamous festival debut shall be known as—”

She groaned, already regretting letting him speak. “Clavis.”

“—‘The Graceful Swan Incident.’” He clapped his hands together as if about to see something truly entertaining. “And my darling enchantress, this is just the beginning. The bards shall sing of this night—the maiden whose fall captured even the attention of the brutal beast himself! Ah, the poetry!”

Cassandra let out a slow, suffering sigh. “I really should have stayed home.”

“But then who would provide me with such excellent entertainment?” He reached forward and playfully booped her on the nose. “If you manage to topple a few more royals, we might have to name a festival in your honor.”

Chevalier had left her standing alone, humiliated, a ghost in his path.

Clavis was standing with her. Laughing. Inviting her into his absurd, impossible world.

But there was something about the way he did it—so quick, so practiced. Like someone who knew far too well how to pull the strings before they tangled. As if he’d learned long ago how to take control of a story before it consumed him.

She couldn’t help but wonder—did anyone ever stand beside him the way he stood beside her now?

The thought left a strange weight pressing beneath her ribs.

She didn’t know what to do with that.

“And here I thought you were here to rescue me.”

Clavis gasped, scandalized. “Rescue? My dear, I am elevating you. You should be thanking me.”

Cassandra arched a brow. “Oh? Shall I throw myself at your feet in gratitude, then?”

His grin widened. “Only if you promise to be just as dramatic about it as before.”

She groaned again, resisting the urge to swat at him as his laughter echoed through the festival air. “Unbelievable.”

Clavis leaned in, voice rich with amusement. “Undeniably charming is the phrase you’re looking for.”

Cassandra hesitated.

For a moment, she almost turned away. She was exhausted—emotionally wrung out, still stinging from the weight of Chevalier’s indifference.

But then—

Cassandra inhaled. Just once. Just enough to steady herself.

And maybe—just maybe—if she let herself play along, the night wouldn’t feel like such a loss.

And maybe, she thought, if she stayed a little longer in Clavis’s world, she wouldn’t feel quite so caged.

Something flittered across Clavis’s face—subtle, quick. Satisfaction? Amusement? Or something deeper?

She pursed her lips, fighting the tug of a smile as she shot him a glare.

Clavis’s smirk gentled, and his golden gaze dropped lower—just briefly. “There it is,” he murmured, voice dipping.

Cassandra blinked. “There what is?”

“The way you bite your lip when you try to hold back a smile.”

A pause. Then, softer, almost absentminded: “...You shouldn’t hide it.”

Something about the way he said it—the casualness layered over something else, something almost wistful—caught her off guard.

Her breath caught—just a fraction too long.

His grin returned in full force. “Now, then! Where were we? Ah, yes—” Then—smooth as ever—he extended a hand toward her, palm up, as though presenting her with a choice.

An invitation. A dare. A distraction. A carefully offered escape.

Something to pull her out of the weight of her own thoughts.

Her fingers twitched—then loosened. The handkerchief slipped from her grip, landing soft as a sigh against the edge of her skirt. She didn’t look down. She reached forward instead.

And just like that, Clavis whisked her into the festival’s heart, and the next thing she knew, she was spinning.

Her laughter was carried away by the music, by the flickering lantern light, by the sheer absurdity of how easily he had turned her moment of shame into something else entirely.

“Scandalous,” Clavis breathed. “A lady of your standing, letting a rogue like me sweep her into a dance? What will the court say?”

Cassandra scoffed. “That I’ve lost all sense and reason.”

““A tragic loss,” he said, straight-faced. “But tell me, my dear, does it feel so terrible?”

She opened her mouth to argue, to insist that of course it did, but the words caught in her throat.

Because it didn’t.

For the first time that night, she wasn’t just watching. She wasn’t calculating her steps, rehearsing the right way to move, to behave.

She was moving.

Her skirts flared as Clavis led her through another turn, the world around them dissolving into color and sound—lanterns glowing like captured stars, laughter rippling through the warm summer air, the scent of sweet spiced wine weaving through it all.

Then, for a breath of a second—just as he twirled her again—Cassandra hesitated. Her foot faltered. Her fingers tightened against his, instinct pulling her back.

Should she be doing this?

It felt like she was trying to carry moonlight in her hands.

But the warmth of his hand anchored her, steady and real. He didn’t tug or push—he simply waited. Watching her.

And in the flickering light, something passed through her. Not defiance. Not surrender. A choice.

She exhaled, the breath shaky, and closed her eyes and let herself feel the moment instead—the rhythm, the beauty, the warmth of his body just slightly closer than was proper. The steady cadence of his breath. The faintest brush of his coat against her side. The flutter of something she didn’t dare name taking flight in her chest.

Not the girl her mother wanted. Not the dutiful shadow.  

Just her—laughing, dancing, daring.

She moved with him, letting the music guide her...

Clavis must have noticed, because when she opened her eyes he was watching her, eyes on her face as though catching something unguarded in her expression.

And for just a second, something shifted in his.

It was subtle—barely more than a blink. But she saw it: the pause, the way his teasing rhythm stuttered, like he’d glimpsed something he hadn’t expected. Something real.

His golden eyes smoldered—not with mischief, but something quieter. More searching.

And then—it was gone.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice dipping into something quieter, something teasingly conspiratorial. “You almost look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Her lips curled. The flicker of uncertainty was gone now, replaced with something steadier. Something a little more bold. “I’m just following your lead,” she said, eyes flashing with a quiet defiance. 

“Oh, but I live for the challenge.” 

He twirled her again, closer this time—his palm firm at the small of her back, drawing her in with such confidence it stole her breath. So deliberately slow she could feel the whisper of his breath brush past her cheek when he drew her back in.

And when he caught her hand, holding her steady just as the music swelled again, she felt it: the shift.

The air between them was warmer now. Closer. Charged.

For the briefest heartbeat, his teasing expression wavered—just enough for something unreadable to slip through.  Something almost melancholy. Almost wanting. Something that vanished as soon as it appeared. Like he was looking for something without even knowing what he hoped to find.

A distant voice in her mind whispered that this was unseemly. That a lady did not let a rogue sweep her into a dance, that her mother would scowl at the very idea—

“You think too much,” he murmured, his fingers warm around hers, his voice light, inviting. “Just move.” 

It sounded like nothing at all. A careless tease. But there was something weighted beneath it, like he knew exactly what it felt like to think too much, too often, until it trapped you.

Cassandra swallowed hard. She could argue. She could retreat. 

Or…for just this moment, she could let go.

Her fingers twitched in his grip, a lingering instinct to hold back. Then—his hand tightened, just slightly, just enough for her to feel the warmth of his palm against hers.

Not a command. Just steady—present. A tether, or a dare.

She exhaled. And then—she moved with him, letting the music guide her, letting the weight of embarrassment dissolve into the lightness of the festival. The dance with him felt like music. Unwritten. Unrehearsed. But hers.

And this time, her laughter came easier. Not borrowed. Not hidden. Hers.

And Clavis Lelouch, of all people—the prince who danced circles around everyone but never stayed close long enough for anyone to catch him—had been the one to make that possible.

That realization settled in her chest like something dangerous.

Like something she wasn’t ready to name.

Because there was something fleeting in the way he held her—like someone who never let anyone linger too long, afraid they might see too much if they stayed.

And later that night, when the festival had long since ended—

When the lanterns were dim and the music only a ghost in memory—

Cassandra lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling as moonlight cast pale silver across the beams above.

She should have been asleep. But sleep didn’t come easily tonight.

Not when her heart still echoed with laughter that hadn’t been rehearsed.

Not when her feet still remembered the way they had moved without counting the steps.

Not when she could still feel the phantom warmth of his hand in hers.

Not when her heart still fluttered—not just from the dance, but from the way he had looked at her. Like she was something worth watching.

His golden eyes. The weightless spin. That whisper of breath at her cheek.

She had felt free.

Undeniably, wonderfully free.

She tried to hold on to the feeling—lightness, freedom, the rhythm of the music in her blood. But even now, with silence around her, doubt crept in like ivy curling through a crack in the stone.

What would her parents say, if they knew? That she had danced with him—so openly, so easily, so…willingly. Her mother’s disapproval was a constant shadow, but tonight it pressed heavier than usual.

And then there was Chevalier’s gaze—cool, unblinking, assessing. He hadn’t said anything, but he hadn’t needed to. His silence had sliced sharper than any remark.

Was that what he saw in her? A foolish girl who couldn’t even keep her footing, let alone her dignity?

Her stomach twisted. She had been so sure of herself in that moment. So full of feeling. And now? She wasn’t sure what any of it meant.

Was it real?

Or had she simply borrowed someone else’s courage for a single, borrowed moment in a borrowed night?

Was it freedom she’d felt in his arms—or just the echo of someone else’s?

Borrowed from someone like him, someone who moved through life like nothing could touch him.

Did he lift the weight from her shoulders…or simply help her forget it was there?

She turned onto her side, pressing her palm lightly to her chest. Her pulse still fluttered faintly beneath her fingers—quickened, even now.

“Just move,” he’d said.

She closed her eyes. Her thoughts wondered through her mind, soft and low, like the start of a song.

He made me feel like I could be someone else.Or maybe not someone else.Maybe just…more myself than I usually allow.

But was that truly me?Or just who he wanted me to be?Who I wanted to be for him?

 She almost heard a melody forming around them—slow, uncertain. Half-hummed in her mind. A fragile tune. The kind that would vanish if she breathed too loud.

It lingered at the edge of thought, elusive and aching—as though her soul was trying to say something her heart wasn’t ready to admit.

She imagined playing it on the old piano by the window—fingers trembling over ivory keys.

No lyrics yet. Just emotion.

A minor key. Rising, falling. Something tender. Something afraid.

She let the notes play quietly in her head. Let them carry the question she couldn’t bring herself to ask aloud.

And if it was real…

Why did it feel like it belonged to someone else?

She bit her lip. Turned over again. 

Pressed her fingers to her lips, as though she could quiet the thoughts if she didn’t speak them aloud.

“Just move,” he’d said.

So simple. So devastating.

And how much that terrified her—

Not just because she’d done it.

But because she wanted to do it again.

But it was too late.

Because for the first time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to the way things were. And worse—she wasn’t sure if she even could.

Stay tuned for a mini epilogue to this from Clavis' POV! As always, let me know if you want to be tagged next time I post a fic!

Tag List:

@ithseem @chirp-a-chirp @aquagirl1978 @queengiuliettafirstlady

@nyxthepixystick @ikeprinces-stuff @kaizoku-musume @candiedcoffeedrops @missaengg

@ike-garden2024 @writingwhimsey @reborn-elven-spirit @william-rex @avellanas-nutty-empire

@notjonahclemence

[seneon]

What do your moots remind you of?

wait wait anon-chan this gonna be a long ass list. all under the cut and a lot of yapping

@tojiluv ⌇ ory

the smell of office documents and coffee. you radiate a comforting vibe but at the same time you have like 7261616377271 works for complete so you escape to cafés.

@amourlyns ⌇ ven

sports cars speeding through the night. maybe it's the previous batman theme, but you really remind me of those soothing late night drives through cities.

@itonashi ⌇ shina

bone china mug and any type of tea. i can picture you sitting and drinking tea from the bone china mug and humming to yourself saying "mm yes yes... tea."

@syomi ⌇ syo

wine red stilettos and a jazz bar. you remind me of an elegant woman in an old jazz bar just fancying her night through with a drooling group of men who tries to get your attention.

@anqelically ⌇ angel

japanese cherry blossoms and spring mostly. you're like a pretty sakura. you LOOK like a pretty sakura. you are a pretty sakura. so cute right. ily angel ur really an angel 🩷

@yuquinzel ⌇ hana

flowers! definitely a white tulip or a camellia. you're so sweet and you treasure + honour your friends more than yourself. so, you deserve a flower or two occasionally as achievement.

@noomon ⌇ noo

raincoats and gumboots. noo you're like a soul that always goes out after the rain stops just to jump in puddles. or or, you'd go out in the rain just to dance in it.

@caelivir ⌇ kory

a stoic apothecary. idk you remind me of someone who'd be so obsessed with testing poisons and finding a cure/medicine to everything. all done in pure stoicism.

@saewako ⌇ winter

snowy trails and misty fogs. you highly remind me of a tired village girl escaping from home and now she walks through the snow and mist with sore, red feet. heha.

@killyzury ⌇ mil

clouds and a farm. you're not working on the farm though. you're a visitor of the farm and you'd sit by the balcony of the inn just to stare into the clouds. bonus if you're drawing.

@hyoismbbg ⌇ vy

konapun toys. especially the popin' cookin' ones. or a japanese drugstore. you're definitely someone who likes to buy bags of stuff from cheap drugstores.

@httpshujii ⌇ ray

red lipstick and leather jackets. add in some knee-length boots and you'll rock the look. to put simply, you remind me of a sweet, kind, and cool rockstar girlfriend.

@saelestia ⌇ rain

vivienne westwood's gunmetal orb heart lighter. fancy and classy, that's the vibe that you give off. i chose a lighter because there's also a fierce and fiery side of you.

@kyoghurts ⌇ kenji

i've said this before, and it's the smell of a bakery. like the scent of a very sweet dessert. red velvet cakes, soufflé, grape-flavoured cheese tarts.

@rninies ⌇ kylin

yves saint laurent's opyum sandles. no because honestly my first thought after like checking your blog out, it reminded me of those ysl heels. and honestly? you'd look good in it.

@iluvies / @luv-lies ⌇ luvie

white butterfly koi fishes. they're so majestic and beautiful and they honestly remind me of you, someone's who's so kind and beautiful like a butterfly koi. you're very gentle too!

@todorokies ⌇ knives

would it be funny if i said actual knives? okay maybe not... but daggers or swords. the ones which are freshly forged and ready for battle. you're like a honourable warrior. so kewl.

@omitea ⌇ sinnie

green tea and zen gardens. you remind me of a japanese girl who sits by the engawa (wood corridor) of an old japanese-style house's garden, relaxing with nature.

@wishmemel ⌇ safi

pearls. simply... pearls. because you're a really elegant person and all you remind me of is fancy and naturally expensive pearls. you're like a gem, an unobtainable one.

@noirflms ⌇ zen

laces and ruffle skirts. cute, coquette, soft. those are the elements that heavily reminds me of you. maybe even some strawberry shortcake and strawberry milk.

@kaiser1ns ⌇ kiki

love letters. those sweet, corny, and super romantic ones. oh and one of the letters which is from a secret admirer definitely talks about being crazy in love with you...

@rizzmin ⌇ armin

medieval knight's armour. i believe it's the whole knight theme you have but you're definitely a knight in your last live. and your name is majestic too like ?*!*!*?

@kurosaaki ⌇ jen

hunger games. specifically, a player in hunger games. i don't know, you just radiate survival / apocalyptic vibes in any media like the last of us and stuff.

@conan-hearts-u ⌇ conan

mint chocolate ice-cream. you're very very chill and nonchalant, and super cool just like ice-cream. the mint and chocolate is just a preference that you remind me of.

@jaysgirlx ⌇ kleo

penthouse barbecue parties. with all your home girls just chilling at the penthouse, cool music in the background and the sizzling of barbecued foods. yess i want barbecue now.

@white-poppie ⌇ gauri

soft rose lippies and heart-achingly beautiful poetry. you are the epitome of poetry. a muse, something i would write hours on end about. you're also the writer. it's both in one.

@seumyo ⌇ eumy

goldfishes. the moment i met you i already immediately thought about fishes, especially goldfishes. it's a bonus for me when you actually have a fish theme HAHA.

@angeliicheartt ⌇ elle

eyeliners and chokers. this is random but i really love the way you do your eyeliners. it's sososo pretty and you're so cool and grunge i fw you heavy. for the choker, uhh your emoness

@heartkaji ⌇ mars

the 2000s mcbling aesthetic. so unrelated to you but you give me heavy mcbling vibes. it's the striking hot pink and blinking queen stuff you have swirling all around you.

@bloodswrd ⌇ rosalyn

"i was all over her" by salvia path. yes, a song. you give me the vibe of a child lost in their dreams, wandering around a foggy forest looking for their way back home.

@sepptember ⌇ august

my english teacher. mb this is so weird but you radiate my eng teacher vibes HAHA. she's very nice and kind and so are you. she's also quite poetic! and really pretty 🙏

@metsukini ⌇ mimi

cinnamoroll. ueygshd i love cinnamoroll sm he's so cute just like you. y'all both are sososo adorable i wanna keep you in my pocket forever. wanna squeeze your cheeks all day too..

@lunatiqez / @poetlus ⌇ liv

ramen with naruto. the swirly thingy with pinky lines. and of course, miso ramen! or the noodle takeout that looks like this 🥡 you seem like a friend i'd go to an izakaya with (:

@rueclfer ⌇ rue

a crystal castles song. you give me the vibe of you dancing to a crystal castles song in your room then the next second you're on the ground, contemplating about life.

@sweetheartsaku ⌇ saku

i think you can kinda predict what i'm gonna say... fireworks and stars. i cannot watch a fireworks show or the stars the same anymore aft meeting u. it's a game changer, saku.

@raeson ⌇ claire

bees flying around petals. you have a really sweet vibe and i imagine you as a flower petal and there's cute bees flying around you on a perfectly sunny day where the sun is peak.

@bbluefllame ⌇ eirene

a jovial black & white cat. you radiate kitty vibes. those two colours always bear the cutest kitties ever, and it screams eirene. yk, the typa kitty who has a insta account js for u.

@luvlyycy ⌇ cy ( mother )

mini skirts and cupcakes. you're soso upbeat and cute i imagine that one dabi x girly! reader with you as the reader like actually. wanna keep you in my pocket!!

@cindol ⌇ cinny

light pink glossy platform heels. miss pretty girl is always so kind and friendly. not to mention for a fact that you're absolutely cute cinny winny.

@haunted4kent ⌇ leah

glazed cinnamon rolls. leahhh you're like one of my favourite big sisters on tumblr and you give so much chill sister vibes with the best best bessttt advices ever.

@rvoulte ⌇ yira

this is so funny but beabadoobee's freckles. 哈哈哈哈 IM SO SORRY YIYI. oh and clairo songs!! because you have this rather soft and shoujo girl vibe y'know?

@ryescapades ⌇ rye

kitties! whatever cat i see, it reminds me of you. because you're the queen of cats and you send me kitty stuff and we love kitties and i love your fat cat ♡

@elssero ⌇ els

my other tumblr big sister ♡ but gothic and creepy. you remind me of candle wax flowing down. in the slowest motion. that's how you creep into my life btw hehe.

@nyxypoo ⌇ nyx

white / gray cat. just like rye, you very much remind me of cats, but more specific in colours! it's the vibe that you give off ykyk? also you and rye are probably kitty couples so cute.

@mightymorphin777 ⌇ rinzler ( rizzler father )

video games in the dust. you remind me of the old forgotten video games that a teenage boy probably accidentally stumbled across at the back of an abandoned game shop.

@poemeater ⌇ leigh

candies. like, specifically this one funny round shaped one 🍬 cuz you're very sweet, but at the same time super super silly. and that typa candy is usually the most fun!!

@suksatoru ⌇ bee

bubbles and rain. just because you have quite the bubbly personality yet at the same time you can write forsakenly good angst ( cough your dabi fic )

@skiiyoomin ⌇ ines

old books and dried paintbrushes. self explanatory, cuz you draw so so well and you reminded me of introverted art students who sits in library all day.

ok that's all. i reached mention limit so that's all for now. this is most of my mutuals that i know of! i heart all of you, my pride and joys of this funny app 🖤

[fandomroulette]

Multishipper Madness pt 4

Next up in listing my favourite aftg ships for individual characters.

Jean-Yves Moreau

1. Jean/Renee (something something this is the only universe where they stood a chance and the fact that the timing was still wrong breaks my freakin' heart, I just really love the idea of them finding their way back to each other later in life when they're both ready to trust that they deserve good things)

2. Jean/Neil (Love me some misplaced forever partners. I think this works best in Raven AUs but I like lots of versions of them, doesn't have to be romantic to melt by brain.)

3. Jean/Jeremy (the potential is there and I'm sure by the time the next two books are out these two will have altered by brain chemistry but I feel disappointedly normal about them so far)

4. Jean/Kevin/Jeremy (feels indulgent in a way that I enjoy but find hard to picture as a real thing. Still Jean deserves the world so he would only need to openly express a desire to be with both of them for me to get on board right quick)

5. Jean/Renee + Jean/Jeremy (for obv reasons I do not ship Renee and Jeremy but I do think they're a more realistic "Jean has two hands" outcome than most.

6. Jean/Neil/Andrew (I just think it could be neat)

7. Jean/Andrew (no idea how this would realistically occur but I love the idea anyway)

8. Jean/Aaron (I've seen a couple interpretations of these two getting together that were really cool. It would be way higher on the list if imagining Aaron not being with Katelyn didn't make me itchy)

9. Jean/Kevin (ngl I think Jean deserves to move on from Kevin, that being said I am not above being taken in by the tragedy of the two of them and I have a soft spot for Kevin realizing he returns Jean's feelings a little too late)

[thelittlelostgraycat]

✩ 

                          HOW I PERCEIVE JEAN-YVES MOREAU ID CARD :

› he/him, afab › disaster bi › french-lebanese › INFJ › cptsd - generalised anxiety - depression › Hard of hearing after too many blows to the head › scorpio sun, virgo moon, gemini rising THE AESTHETIC :

HEADCANONS :

› Grey eyes, pale skin and freckles for days. › Power house on the court he's actually very clumsy in real life. Always sporting bruised on his legs and arms. › Very anxious, he is often curled up on himself, afraid to take up space.  › He can’t sleep in the dark, he uses a vintage lava lamp as his night light. › Very soft voice, slighty scratchy.  › He never learned arabic as a child and still struggle with the language. › Slut for silver jewelry, he buys Kevin matching one in gold. He likes when it glows on kevin's chest.

✩ 

                          HOW I PERCEIVE CAOIMHÍN LIAM DAY. ID CARD :

› he/him › bisexual & demi › irish-american › ISTP › separation anxiety - panic disorder - addiction - chronic pain › Recovering alcoholic › leo sun, capricorn moon, libra rising THE AESTHETIC :

HEADCANONS :

› Green eyes, golden skin and vitiligo. › Riko made him change his name to Kevin because it was easier to read and pronounce. › Absolute moron in real life, doesn't really know how to function and will call his dad at least twice a day asking for help on the most basic things. › Doesn't know when to stop yapping. › His fascination for history and his love for exy come from the 'tism. › Caring in his own way, his love language is gift giving. › Covered in tattoos. ( a fox for the PSU team, flames on one of his arm like his dad, a claddagh for his mom, patroclus helmet for Jean..) › Doesn't like jewelry, he still wears the one Jean's got him.

✩ 

                          THE KEVJEAN HEADCANONS › It was hard for Kevin to assume his sexuality. *** TW RAPE -The reason behind it is because Jean was looking at him in the changing room, Riko being Riko didn't like it one bit and handcuffed Kevin to the bed so he could watch Jean being assaulted. From that moment on, it was easier to be straight. *** › It took a long time for them to talk again but now ? They will talk on the phone, send texts, pictures throughout the day, a proof of life and freedom. › They got together after they ended-up on the same pro team. › When they fight, Jean will take off his hearing aids. It pisses off Kevin so much. › Codependent as fuck, they had to learn how to be separated. They still act like the shining twins, move in tandem and finish each other sentences. › Jean dating Kevin's crush while he was in USC made him lose his damn mind. › Jean cannot sleep without hearing Kevin's snores, he sneakily recorded him one time so he could play it when he's alone. › Both of them have a service dog, they also adopted a cat and saved a snake from a bad owner. › They speak in a mix of french and english. › Mo ghrá is Jean sweet nickname. › Veen or habibi are used on Kevin. › They both loath the cold and the heat, winter and summer is hell for the both of them. › Not a single sweet tooth in sight, their house is a nightmare for Andrew. › Jean is soft spoken and calm most of the time, he is actually the calm before the storm. Pissing him off is always a bad idea. While Kevin is quick to anger and even quicker to calm down. › Every year they take a two weeks vacation to visit a new city or a new country.

[chirp-a-chirp]

Ikemen Prince: Protection

Emma: *Picturing Leon’s soft smile* I WILL PROTECT THIS MAN WITH EVERYTHING.

Yves: You are over half a foot shorter than Leon is.

Emma: THEN I WILL WEAR HIGH HEELS AS I UNSHEATHE MY BLADE.

Yves: You HAD to teach Emma how to sword fight, didn’t you Licht?

Licht: It was either that or have her accidentally stab others.

Yves: And you just HAD to get Emma THOSE heels, didn’t you Jin?

Jin: Actually, that was Clavis. He’s our leg man.

Clavis: And yet she refused the pair with my special straps!

Emma: Those heels were more net than shoe. And the straps went PAST my thighs!

Leon: *Walks into the room* Now wait a minute, let’s see these shoes.

Clavis and Jin: *Grins*

Leon: JUST ME PERVS. *Picks Emma off and dashes away*

[youremyheaven]

I hope you are feeling better and recovering well. I was wondering (whenever you feel ready to do so) if you could give your thoughts on the kibbe ID and kitchener essence of Yves from Loona, Sunmi and Sulli? They look somewhat similar but I wonder which essences are more prominent in each person.

hii angel<3

im doing well. thank you for asking<3 how are you? i hope you're well too

L to R

Sulli, Yves and Sunmi

I think Sulli is a Soft Gamine. Her essences are Gamine, Classic and Romantic

Yves is a Flamboyant Gamine. Her essences are Gamine, Romantic and Natural

Sunmi is a Soft Classic. Her essences are Classic, Romantic and Dramatic

If you look at pictures of them, Sulli & Yves look the most similar whereas Sunmi looks more distinctive. She catches your eye immediately. it's obvious that she has Dramatic essence. She just has that oomph. She's Classic because there is a general mildness to her.

Both Lisa and Sunmi have Romantic, Dramatic essences. What sets them apart is their one differing essence. Which is Ingenue for Lisa and Classic for Sunmi.

Sunmi could easily play a character in a historical film. Classic essence always makes one look timeless. Lisa looks 100x more contemporary.

With Sulli and Yves the differences are more minor. They're both Gamines but Sulli has a sweetness to her that makes her seem softer, more gentler whereas Yves seems more like a baddie.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both Worlds (part 20)

Tw: a bunch of profanities, nothing much in this chapter , short chapter tho

Vote below, i will only count the first 20 votes

Part 21

"You are so funny, (name)!" She laughed and playfully slapped you on the shoulder.

You laughed along and continued your conversation with her.

You finished all your classes for the day. You agreed to accompany her to the cafe because you have five grand in your bank account, courtesy by Yves and you can afford to treat her and yourself.

You didn't touch the food Montgomery gave you. Neither did Evangeline, because she too suffered from bad food poisoning when eating at that takeaway. It was thrown in the trash by her, it twisted your heart a little but you knew it wasn't edible.

Yves sent you a couple of texts asking you to call him when you're free along with pictures of what he found interesting. You muted him and chose to interact with your new friend instead.

In the end, the two of you shared the same opinion of Montgomery, that he may be creepy, but ultimately harmless. It's as if you completely had the memory of him punching Yves in the face erased.

It's nice. Someone around your age that shares the same humor and interests. Someone human unlike Yves and someone socially adept unlike Montgomery.

Good god, you can't believe you somehow considered Montgomery a friend.

"Hey (name)? I got this crazy idea."

You asked her what it was.

"Let's do a prank call on Montgomery." You gasped and said no way. But your tone betrayed you, it does sound like a fun joke. As long as the proper safety measures are taken.

"It will be the funniest thing ever. C'mon, here's the plan."

The both of you huddled together and discussed her nefarious ideas.

__

Her internet sleuthing skills are impressive, to say the least. All he needed was his phone number and his first name. You managed to find out he came from a family of farmers, 20 hours by car away from the city. Montgomery has been to more than 10 cities in the past decade, working various jobs and then quitting it to move onto the next place.

He once rented an apartment, but was evicted when he couldn't pay his rent on time. So you and Evangeline assumed he was living out of his car since then.

"Oh wow. You are proactive!" Giggled Evangeline when she saw you already saved his number under "Do not answer".

She is using your phone. Evangeline dialed Montgomery's personal number and pinched her nose to create an unrecognizable nasally voice. It was set to speaker mode.

After a few seconds of ringing, someone on the other end finally picked up.

"Hello?" It's undoubtedly him, coupled with the sounds of jackhammers rattling in the background.

"Heller, is this Mr Yeller? Montgomery Elizabeth Yeller?"

"Yeah, you got the right person. Who is this?"

"Yerr, this is Anita. Do you remember me, Mr Yeller?"

There was a pause.

"No, your name ain't ringing a bell. Anita who?" He finally replied.

Evangeline struggled to stifle her giggles. "Last name, Bath."

"Anita...Bath?" Montgomery was genuinely trying to remember someone in his life named that.

"Yeah you fucking do, stinky." You and Evangeline burst out cackling.

Eventually, Montgomery caught on and became upset.

"Ha ha. Very funny, you little shits. How the hell did you get my number?"

"Through Joe!"

You and her giggled. You pressed your palm against your lips.

"...(Name)?" His voice became soft and hopeful.

Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. You signal her to cut it out, but she squeezed your shoulder.

"Joe Mama!" She laughed so hard that she had to cradle her side.

"Of fuckin' course." Montgomery's tone returned to being unfriendly. "Don't you fuckin' kids have homework to do? Instead of wastin' y'all's time and y'all's future botherin' strangers?" He snarked.

"No, because we are smart enough to get a scholarship to Ligma!" You heard him scoff from the other side.

"The hell is Ligma? Ya think I fuckin' care if-"

"Ligma balls!" You and Evangeline had tears running down the side of your faces from chortling so hard. "Y-you fell for it three times, Mr Yeller! What the fuck?" Evangeline added between laughs.

"...Stupid good for nothin' kids." He grumbled before hanging up.

Evangeline tried calling immediately after. To your surprise, he still answered.

"I ain't playing with y'all unless you're callin' in to apologize."

"StinkySayHuh."

"Huh?"

You and her let out the loudest scream of glee that he managed to take the bait. The remainder of the call was filled with mocking laughing from you two.

"Y'all can go straight to hell." He scolded before hanging up.

You found it so hilarious despite it being juvenile humor, your howling turned silent and your face became red. You couldn't breathe from guffawing too hard.

"Again, again!" She pressed the button call on his number.

It was declined. She pouted while you're still recovering from your giggles.

She tried calling him repeatedly, but all other attempts went to voicemail. His phone wouldn't receive any texts either.

"Aw, looks like he blocked you." Evangeline handed your phone back to you. Grinning, you thanked her profusely, this is exactly what you wanted.

"No, thank you for hanging out with me. This is the most fun I've had for months!" You laughed along and took another look at your phone.

You had that instinctive jerk upon seeing the time. Her smile dropped and changed to a confused expression.

"What's wrong?"

You were in the middle of packing until you realized you didn't have to take the bus. You apologized and explained yourself.

"Oh, that's totally fine. Hey, what do you say we hang out at the beach?"

You told her that Mr Jones is probably waiting for you.

"Daddy isn't just driving one person around all day. He's like an on-demand taxi! He's going to come to you only after a phone call."

You never knew that.

"Besides, you don't have a stuffy ol' Sir Yves to entertain. You're free! You get to go wherever you want to, whenever you want to." She gave you jazz hands to bring home her point.

"The sun is out, but it isn't that hot. We can dip our feet in the water to cool ourselves down."

You rubbed your chin. That does sound nice, and you don't want to reject your only friend. It's not like you have anything to do at the moment.

"But we're gonna need to take the bus though. I haven't had my driver's license yet." She added.

It takes an hour to ride the bus from the university to the beach. You're full from the junk you ate from the cafe, and you have enough money to buy whatever you want from the stalls.

You could always call Mr Jones up to drive you home from the beach.

However, you should probably go home and talk to Yves. You're barely answering his texts while he was excited to show you the attractions around his hotel.

"So, what do you say, (name)?" She asked with a hopeful smile.

You thought about it.

[novelmonger]

Book Review: The Tower at Stony Wood by Patricia McKillip

Recommended by @valiantarcher for the 2025 Book Rec Exchange

Quote that should have been on the back of the book: "There is a woman trapped in a tower in Skye, who cannot free herself, who dares not even look at the world for fear of death. Will you find her, Cyan Dag? Will you free her, for the sake of those who love and need her?"

Premise: The young king of Yves has just married a beautiful maiden from the magical realm of Skye, and is clearly smitten. But in the middle of the festivities, the bard of Skye singles out the knight Cyan Dag and tells him a horrible secret: The woman the king has married is an imposter. The real bride is locked in a tower, enchanted so that she can't even look out the window except through a mirror, or her life will end. Cyan must leave on a quest to find her and free her from the tower, or there is no telling what will happen to his kingdom.

Thoughts: I'm finding it a little hard to figure out just what to say about this one. It certainly wasn't what I was expecting. I mean, yes, obviously it's heavily inspired by the Lady of Shalott, which I was expecting. But other than that, I don't think this book is much like any other I've read before, and if I'm being completely honest, I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.

For one thing, I found Patricia McKillip's style beautiful, but rather hard to follow. Her descriptions are evocative and beautifully woven, but in a way that often made it hard for me to tell if she was describing something that was literally happening, or if she was being metaphorical about it. And that only became more confusing when the characters would encounter something magical, because it's all very soft magic, more felt than spoken, oftentimes without even an incantation to indicate that magic is happening. All in all, reading this book often felt like I was slightly feverish, like the weird half-awake dreams you have when your brain is overheating.

But then, the whole time through, I was never bored. I actually found the side plot (?) of Melanthos, the daughter of a selkie who finds herself drawn to a (? magical ?) tower where she embroiders pictures of the things she sees reflected in a mirror, more fascinating than the main plot (and made me want to break out my next cross-stitch project). And I also found myself drawn to the story of Thayne Ysse, whose father is in the throes of dementia and whose younger brother was crippled after a horrible wound suffered when he followed the warriors to battle, and now they both want Thayne to go find a dragon who can raze Yves to the ground....

See what I mean? There are a lot of interesting characters running around in this story, and...I mean, there's a dragon in it, so that's pretty cool too. But there was just something...something in the air, I guess, that wasn't quite satisfying to me. And I'm not sure I can put my finger on exactly why that is, which only makes the whole thing even more frustrating to me. Maybe it's that I felt the promises given (by way of the plot) in the beginning ended up not panning out in a way that fulfilled them the way I wanted them to. It may simply be that McKillip's style is not for me. But I'm still glad I gave it a try.

Also, I was told there would be humor in this book, but I didn't find much, sorry ^^'

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

OoTP, Chapter 4 - Choosing Sides

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: vague hints at abusive parents (I mean it's Lucius Malfoy)

Masterlist

Word Count: 4291

After Herbology, you tried to catch Draco on his way out.  He seemed preoccupied, and his friends trailed behind him, guffawing over some trinket they tossed back and forth, but he ignored them and you.  They turned away from the castle and you gave up; it wasn’t worth it being late to Potions.

Perhaps you could write him a letter and send it in the post, you thought, absentmindedly stirring the contents of your cauldron.  That should be discreet enough.  It still irked you that you couldn’t just talk to him like a person, but in all truth, you didn’t really want people knowing you were associating with each other either.  He had something of a reputation.

Though by the end of Double Potions you had formulated a plan, as you left the classroom you caught a glimpse of that unmistakable silver hair and green robes turning a corner down the corridor.  You pretended to have left your quill behind, and peeled off from your friends and the stream of students heading to lunch.  The soft pattering of your shoes on the cold stone floor must’ve given you away, for when you turned that same corner, Draco was leaning against the wall, arms folded, waiting for you.

“Why are you following me?”  He looked somewhat harried; his hair hung slightly awry, and the shirt under his sweater vest was uncharacteristically wrinkled.

You stopped, confused.  “I wanted to talk without having to send you a notarized letter.”  His eyes narrowed.  “I had just forgotten that this weekend was Hogsmeade, and I wondered if we could push our meeting to Sunday.”

“Oh.  Sure that’s fine.”  He paused, weighing his words.  “I actually, uh, I’ve changed my mind.  I’ve decided I’d like to work for the Ministry, so I won’t need Herbology after all, so don’t worry about it.”

“What are you talking about?  Is this because I want to reschedule?”

“Don’t be daft,” he snapped.  “I can’t really picture myself doing something so undignified, working for goblins.  The Ministry will be a much better fit for someone of my family’s standing.”

“I see,” you said quietly, taken aback by the venom in his words.

Draco continued quickly, “It’s just that I’ll have more important, more relevant things to focus on, and-and-and you probably do too.”

You nodded curtly, “We agreed we wouldn’t be friends.  You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”  You paused before turning on your heel, “Good luck.”

Saturday morning came early, Wilbur purring on your chest with his wet nose sniffing at your closed eyes.

“Cat, one day you’re going to startle me so much I throw you off this bed, and it’ll be no one’s fault but yours.”  He sat up, tail curled regally around him, waiting.  “I can’t give you treats if you’re on top of me.  Yes, yes I know.”  You threw back the bed curtains and glanced at the enchanted windows.  It was still somehow before dawn; everyone else was still asleep.  You tsked at Wilbur, setting two treats beside him on your bed, and dressed quietly.  You eased your broom out from under your bed and slunk out of your dormitory, then through the round painting door.

Almost a full week into October, the pre-dawn air was bracing as it whipped around you and your broom.  The Quidditch pitch was deserted, thankfully, as it was the only area that allowed unsupervised flying on the whole grounds.  There was nothing you wanted more than to fly through the trees and over the lake, but if anyone caught you they’d confiscate the broom and dock enough points to earn side-eyes until Christmas.  So instead, you circled the pitch as fast as you could go, ignoring the stiff chill in your fingers as they gripped the broom handle. Patches of muddy ground spun by faster and faster until the whole world seemed brown.

“Y/N?”  Your concentration broken, you yelped and had to pull up hard to keep yourself from ramming into a tower.  On the ground, Yvette stood at the ready, broom in one hand and quaffle tucked neatly under the other arm.  She kicked off and met you in the air.  “Something you wanna talk about?”

“Not really.  You don’t get enough fly time during practice?”

She shrugged.  “I got into the habit, you know?  After, I’m awake, and I feel better.  You wanna run some passes with me?”

“Shoot, what time is it?”  You’d forgotten about Hogsmeade, and the Hog’s Head, and Harry Potter.  The sun was peeking over the trees, casting shadows with the tops of each tower on the pitch.

“Seven thirty, why?”

“I wanted to go to Hogsmeade today, but I can play for an hour.”

Yvette grinned and tossed you the quaffle.  For whatever reason, completing random passes and scoring against imaginary opponents did a much better job of settling your mind than speed-flying in circles, although it was clear from the onset Yvette’s talent far out paced your own.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” you remarked breathily, touching down.

She scoffed, “I was always good, I just got better.  So, no tutoring today?”

“Huh?”

“Your Slytherin, you aren’t sneaking off to tutor them?”

You bit your lip, the secret, evidently, out.  “Donna told you?”

“You didn’t think she would?  She tells everyone everything.  Besides, three mornings in a row you don’t come to breakfast?  We were bound to know something was up.  So, you aren’t meeting them today?  Or are you meeting them in Hogsmeade?”

You snorted at the thought of being seen with Draco Malfoy anywhere but a classroom.  “No, no I’m just meeting up with Ginny and Luna.  Besides,” you stretched your arms up, thinking how to phrase it, “I’m not tutoring the Slytherin anymore, they didn’t need much help.”  She shot you a sidelong glance but didn’t press the issue.  

“What about you?  No Hogsmeade today?”

“Can’t, I’m behind on Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts and I do not want Umbridge or McGonagall cross with me.”

“Fair enough.  I’ll get you something from Honey Dukes?”

“Yes, please.”

Filch was in an uncharacteristically chipper mood as he snatched permission forms from nervous third years, grinning maniacally all the while.  You couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than the alternative, and an uncomfortable thought crossed your mind.  What did willingly keeping on such a dour sadist, one seemingly convinced torture was a reasonable punishment for misbehaving children, say about Dumbledore?  An uncomfortable thought, no doubt.

Across the courtyard, Ginny was holding hands with her newest boyfriend, who laughed abruptly at something she said.  A twinge of jealousy spun in your gut.  Ginny was, in a word, cool.  Funny, talented, witty, and quite genuine, it was difficult not to like her.  There was certainly a reason she was popular.

You looked around for Luna.  She, on the other hand, often gave the impression that she could be perfectly content to never speak to another person ever again.  You’d asked her once, unsure, if your presence was wanted at all.  She’d assured you that she quite enjoyed the company in her typical lilting, ethereal tone.  Finally, you spotted her at the edge of the courtyard on a stone bench, sitting with impeccable posture and clearly thinking deeply about one thing or another. She rose smoothly when you approached, smiling faintly as that faraway look refocused on you.

“Hey Luna,” you began, “Do you mind if I join you for the morning?”  The crowd began to filter out and down the road to Hogsmeade.  

She nodded gently, “I’m headed to Gladrags - all of my socks are infested with wrackspurt eggs.”  She lifted her pant leg to show a sockless foot sitting loosely in a shoe.  “They are an endangered species, after all.”

“Sure, sure.  My mum loves those, I can get her an early Christmas gift.”  Luna’s penchant for rare and less-than-discovered creatures, while unusual, never phased you too much.  After all, if you ever met an umgubular slashkilter you’d know how to keep it from tearing your throat out, thanks to her.

The morning sun was bright and warm and, thankfully, at your backs as you marched down the road with your classmates.  Chimney smoke peeked over the hills in a haze, and before long the village was in sight.  You happily followed Luna into Gladrags Wizardwear, where she found a number of socks you knew she’d never wear as pairs, and you picked out a pair that changed patterns with the weather for your mother.  Afterwards, you still had an hour to kill so you opted for Honeydukes.  Acid pops for Yvette, a cauldron cake for Herbert, and a box of liquorice wands for Donna, and Luna sat with you outside as you split a pumpkin pastie.

It was finally warm, and a little uncomfortably so, most of the students that passed you had their coats off and tied around their waists.  A group of third years were gushing loudly about the shrieking shack, each walking with a varied spring in their step.  Across the cobbled street, the door to the hairdresser’s, Clifford’s Scissors, opened and the bell chimed brightly.  Out came Draco Malfoy.

Oh, come on.  Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice you, but Luna did.  

She followed your sour gaze and said, “I hear his father is visiting Hogwarts tomorrow.  It is curious why he should appear now of all times.”

You swallowed a mouthful of pumpkin pastie.  “What do you mean?”

“He works very closely with the Ministry.  No one ever invites him, he just announces his arrival.”

“Ah,” you said.  That certainly made some things clearer.

Luna glanced up at the sun.  “It’s almost noon.  Let’s go.”  You picked up the box of candy for your friends and followed her down the road.  Very far down the road.  Almost to the end of the road.  You would’ve thought it was a mistake if there weren’t so many other students you recognized.

Inside the Hog’s Head was… gross.  You wrinkled your nose reflexively.  You sat next to Luna and glanced around.  Harry Potter stood next to one of Ginny’s older brothers (was it Roland?) at the bar with Hermione Granger.  His expression seemed more and more morose with ever new student that came through the door.  You waved to a few Hufflepuffs as they came in, but the group was mostly Gryffindor.  Which, you supposed, made some amount of sense.  Two of Ginny’s other older brothers, whose names you knew because of how often Filch said them like a curse, went around handing everyone a butterbeer.  You took a mug from one of them, you couldn’t tell which, in exchange for two Sickles.  The group sat quietly, gingerly sipping butterbeer from cloudy mugs, waiting.

Finally, the trio sat down, and Hermione began speaking.  She covered essentially what Ginny had said in the hallway a few days ago, but you watched Harry’s face.  She finished with, “I want to be properly trained in Defense because… because Lord Voldemort’s back.”

A palpable shiver coursed through the room, one girl actually screamed a little, which you found rather dramatic.  Zacharias immediately asked for proof.  You leaned forward.  Although you wouldn’t have put it the way he did, you were still torn over who to believe.  Harry scowled, and his answer was unsatisfying, but he still didn’t seem to be lying.  In fact, he seemed quite humble even as Zacharias continued to prod him.  You understood, though he began to grate on your nerves as well.  In the end, you put your name on the list like everyone else, excited and nervous to actually learn something useful.  Before passing it on you glanced through the names discreetly.  Ron.  That’s his name.

The next day was a long slog in the library, oscillating between Transfiguration and Arithmancy homework, and wondering whether Draco Malfoy’s father had arrived at the school yet.  And what his purpose was.  Could it be solely to dissuade his only son from a career deemed beneath him?  It occurred to you that the Malfoys were a step above simply rich - it wasn’t as if they were working for the Galleons.  You looked out the great stained glass windows flanking the door periodically, earning you some quizzical looks from Yvette.  Evening rolled around, with not a single sign of silver hair, and you found yourself in the common room, enjoying the enchanted breeze and the warm glow of the fire, surrounded by candy wrappers, as you watched Donna crush Yvette in Wizard’s Chess.  The round painting door swung open to allow a racket of overlapping voices to spill in, followed by Ernie and Hannah, Zacharias hot on their heels.  They made a bee line for the notice board and pinned something on it.

“What’s this about?” you asked, walking over.

Zacharias turned sharply, agitated, “The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has disbanded all organizations, societies, teams, groups and clubs.”  You shared a look with the three of them, all having been present in the Hog’s Head, and remembered your friends’ presence.  He continued, “That means-”

“Quidditch,” you interrupted.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “Quidditch.  Which we will have to beg her to let us play otherwise we’ll be expelled.” Your mouth ran dry.

Yvette piped up, “What?!  She can’t be serious.”

“Can’t she?” Hannah said sourly.

“I’ll go to her office first thing in the morning,” Zacharias assured Yvette, “hopefully we haven’t done anything to upset her.”

That night, sleep did not come easy.  Learning practical skills was one thing, but being expelled for it was entirely another.  Although, if Voldemort really had returned as Harry and his friends believed, Ernie had been right when he said that this was more important than anything else you could do this year.  

You jumped a little, startled, when Wilbur’s furry mass appeared next to your head.  He settled himself at your feet, stepping heavily on your stomach as he went.  

If Voldemort really had returned, expulsion was a minor issue.  You thought of Donna and Yvette, both muggle born, and your dad.  If Voldemort really had returned someone was going to have to fight.  And it couldn’t just be Harry Potter.

As it turned out, Umbridge was only interested in keeping the Gryffindor team in suspense, as you heard from Yvette that the Hufflepuff Quidditch team had been reinstated rather breezily when Zacharias asked.  The fate of Harry Potter’s ‘study group’ remained uncertain, however, and the week trudged on with no news.  

Herbology passed without incident, though you kept stealing glances at Draco to see how he was doing.  By the end of class, his face was red and his eyebrows drawn, but the fanged geranium sat in a pot littered with small, shiny buttons with its toothy maw hanging open, clearly pleased with the trade.  Your own geranium was resting comfortably as you made up limericks on the spot, its own jaw growing looser with every word.  

By the end of the week though, you noticed a number of students you recognized from the Hog’s Head, whispering amongst themselves at dinner.  You hung back when your friends left for the common room, claiming to still be hungry.  Almost immediately, Harry Potter and Ginny’s brother appeared next to the Hufflepuff table.

Ron began, speaking softly, “We’ve found a spot.”

“Oh, good, I was beginning to wonder,” you trailed off.

Harry glanced around, “Tonight, eight o’clock, seventh floor.  Opposite the tapestry of Barn-”

“Barnabas the Barmy.  Got it.”

They nodded conspiratorially and were on their way.  Great.  Now you’d just have to hope no one asked you where you had been all night, and that no one would ever ask you that again.   It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your friends, but none of you had exactly made it clear to the others what was believed about the whole thing.  And then you’d gone to the meeting, and then you’d put your name down, like joining a secret society.  Should you have included them?  It was risky, to them and to the rest, the more people that knew of the whole thing.  You’d just have to come up with something decent later.

By the time the meeting was over, it was past curfew.  You’d dueled for over an hour with Ernie Macmillan, who seemed more concerned with performing intimidating wand patterns than actually disarming you, so when the DA split up into small groups to go back to their common rooms you ended up with him.  Both prefects for each house represented were in attendance, so they sent out a small group, then a prefect, then a small group, then the other prefect - so that if any were caught, it would look like they’d simply been sent back to their dormitories by the correct authority.

You walked along the dark corridors, enthusing quietly about the whole thing.  Ernie had sustained a small bruise next to his left eye from one of the Creevey’s antics, but he matched your enthusiasm.

Ernie knocked on the great round wooden door, and it swung open quietly, the warm breezes of the common room greeting you.  

Donna looked up from the roll of parchment she stared at hopelessly by the fireplace to watch Ernie bid you a pontifical goodnight.  She waved you over.  “Where have you been?” she asked once you’d sat down.

“Just some studying.”

She gave you a suspicious once-over.  “You’d tell me if you were dating Ernie Macmillan, right?”

You chortled abruptly, the notion absurd and hilarious.  “I would tell you, but I wouldn’t date Ernie Macmillan.  I, uh, ran into him and we got to talking about Transfiguration and we lost track of time.”

“Uh huh,” she said, slowly.  It was unclear whether she fully believed your explanation, but she dropped the subject regardless.  “Well I’ve been sat here since supper working on the Pepperup Potion essay.  So now that you’re back from studying you could help me study.”

“OK, but you have to proofread my essay for Umbridge.”

“Hand it over.”  

There was an unspoken agreement between Draco and yourself to avoid each other indefinitely, broken only after a Herbology lesson on puffapods, during which Draco had forced a spore cloud from the poor thing so large that he and his two friends fainted immediately.  Professor Sprout conscripted you to revive them; a ground mixture of ginger soaked in spirits and petals from the offending puffapod did the trick.  The large boy on the left, you learned his name was Crabbe, startled awake red faced and ready for action.  He looked around sheepishly and shoved your mortar bowl away from his face.  The other one, Goyle, opened his eyes but continued to snore.

You had to shoo away some Slytherin girl who had begun shaking his shoulders, then you held the bowl under Draco’s nose, arm stretched to leave as much room between you as possible.  He looked uncharacteristically peaceful, aside from the green-brown dust that discolored his pale forehead.  His eyes fluttered open, and for a second you thought you could back away before he was truly lucid, but then his cold grey eyes focused on you and narrowed. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, getting to his feet in a hurry.  Crabbe and Goyle immediately began dusting off his robes.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Crabbe beat you to it.  “You fainted.  The bloody plant-”

“Get off me.”  He shooed away his lackeys, the rest of the class still staring, the Slytherin girl looking like she’d launch herself at him at her first opportunity.  “I’m fine.”  He did not ask about his friends.

Professor Sprout tried to continue the lesson, but between the constant thrum of quiet gossip and careless handling of the puffapods, it became clear that three people fainting had caused too much excitement.  She sighed and said, “Class dismissed.  I want a foot of parchment on the proper handling of puffapods due next lesson.  Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Malfoy.  If I could have your attention for a moment.  Misters Crabbe and Goyle, you can go.”  She put her hands on her hips and waited for you to approach her.  “Now, am I to understand that you are no longer being tutored, Mr. Malfoy?”  He shook his head, and she turned to you.  “Would you care to tell me why that is?”

Draco interrupted, “I’ve decided I’d rather work with the Ministry.  So I won’t need a Herbology OWL.”

A look of disappointment passed over her face.  “Even so, I can’t imagine you’re happy with such unsatisfactory work.”  Draco’s expression soured.  “Professor Snape has told me what a skilled brewer you are, but let me tell you something.  The best potions can only be brewed, not bought - and that requires the brewer to appraise high quality ingredients.  Which, can you guess, requires a good understanding of what we do in this class.”  Draco deflated a bit, and focused his gaze on his shoes.  “Y/N, that was quick thinking with the ginger - ten points to Hufflepuff.  Why did you have it on hand?”

“Oh, I, uh, I have Potions right after this.”

She gestured to you as if to say there, see what I’m saying?  Her posture softened; her fists uncurled and came to rest at her sides.  “I imagine you are still willing to tutor Mr. Malfoy?”  His gaze snapped to you, his expression unreadable.  

You only hesitated a moment, after all he wasn’t particularly pleasant, but you had improved significantly in Transfiguration all thanks to his brief instruction.  You nodded your head definitively.

Professor Sprout smiled, her cheeks turning rosy again.  “I can’t force you, Mr. Malfoy, but you should consider it.  Now, off you pop!”  She wrote you both notes in case you were late, which you knew you would be, and herded you out of the greenhouse into the cold October sun.

Draco resumed ignoring you, until you stepped into the castle and he said, still not looking at you, “Saturday?”

“Quidditch pitch?”

He nodded.  “I’ll bring the hedgehog.”

“I’ll bring some books,” you finished, and you parted ways in front of the massive fireplace.

Professor Snape was not happy when you arrived at Potions.  “Miss Y/L/N, late again?”

You held out the note.  “I am sorry, Professor.  I do have a note this time.”  He took it unceremoniously, his hooded eyes inspecting Professor Sprout’s signature.  He glanced at you appraisingly, then gestured for you to sit down so he could continue his lesson on Beautification Potion.

Once again, you trudged down the path to the Quidditch pitch far too early on a Saturday.  Draco had already set up the Slytherin themed quilt and his portable fireplace, he was hastily drying some patches of melted frost around the edges of the space.  His back was to you, and hadn’t seemed to notice your arrival, so you set the stack of books you carried down gently and slid the box presumably containing McGonagall’s hedgehog towards you.  He remembered you, apparently, and didn’t protest when you scooped him up and sat him in your lap to wait for Draco to notice you.

“Sicco,” he muttered under his breath.  He checked the watch on his wrist and turned around.  You grinned, and he yelped when he saw you; his eyes narrowed.  “How long have you been sitting there?”

You scratched the hedgehog’s back lightly.  “Only a bit.  We had to get reacquainted.”

His eyebrows knit together.  “I saw you three days ago.”

“I was talking about the hedgehog.”

“Oh, well.  That does make more sense.”  He sat down across from you, apparently satisfied with his handiwork.  “I, uh, just wanted you to know that I-”

“You don’t have to apologize, and we don’t have to talk about it.”

“I was going to tell you not to apologize.”

“Me?  Apologize for what?”

“For humiliating me in front of an entire classroom, obviously!”

Your face turned hot.  “You fainted!  What was I supposed to do?”

He crossed his arms, his face equally inflamed.  “Well you didn’t have to come rushing into save me like I was some helpless child.”

“It’s not my fault you ignore Professor Sprout’s instructions.  Would you have preferred to be carried off to the hospital wing?  Your friends fainted too, you know, you could try caring about someone other than yourself.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

You gaped at him.  “Everything!  You and your friends fainted.  During class.  And you’re so concerned with appearances you can’t even acknowledge that someone might do something nice for you just for the sake of it.”  You stopped, surprised.  “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?  You think I’m going to want something from you.  Right?”  He shrugged.  “Bloody hell.”  You set the hedgehog down and stood up to pace.

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Look, I’m… I’m sorry.  Ok?  I keep forgetting I can’t treat you like them.”

You stopped to glare at him, refused to be appeased by what very well may have been the first time he’d apologized for anything in his life.  “Like who?”

“Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Why would you treat your friends like this anyway?”

“Well, they’re not really friends.  Our families go way back, so they’re more like colleagues.”

“That’s ridiculous.”  He shrugged.  You sat back down and pulled the hedgehog back into your lap.  “So, the Ministry, huh?  What would you be doing for them?”  He looked at you suspiciously.  “Fine, don’t tell me.  I just hope it was your idea, and not your dad’s.  We’ve got a lot of work to do.”  You dropped the stack of books you brought into his lap and pointed at the one on top.

[kaizoku-musume]

Lunar Phase

This was written for the Sunshine & Starlight challenge that @violettduchess and @lorei-writes created. I felt like it was finally time for Aurelia to feature in one of these.

Fandom: Ikepri

Prompt: Full Moon

Word count: 2k

Yves swiped at his eyes, but his tears were long gone. Aurelia had led him to the outdoor sitting area after she found him crying in the kitchen; she went to return to the castle for something, leaving him alone with the moon and his thoughts. He really should be getting to bed-his eyes must already look awful and it was only going to get worse the longer he stayed up. He’d have to apply a warm compress and a good bit of makeup in the morning. But there was something about turning Aurelia down that was terrifying, honestly. 

Oh, speak of the-no, that was mean, and besides, there were others more deserving of the title (despite how similar she was to Nokto). Aurelia was coming back, carrying a tray of tea with her. Yves should get up and help her, but the surreality of the situation kept him seated. Aurelia was wearing a surprisingly modest set of pajamas considering her usual attire (a very cute nightdress that covered her chest and legs and wasn’t sheer at all) and bringing him tea. The situation was weirdly domestic compared to how Aurelia was in the light of day.

So he sat in stunned silence until Aurelia joined him, setting the tray on the table and taking a seat next to him. “I finally have a chance to show off my tea making skills,” she said as she poured them both a cup.

“You made this?” Yves asked. He winced at his rudeness. Obviously, she must have, since none of the servants were awake at this time. It was just that Aurelia had this, well, aura about her. Like she was more fitted for royalty than most of Yves’ own brothers. The idea of her never having to lift a finger to get what she wanted suited her more than anyone else yves had ever met.

Aurelia graciously ignored his faux pas. “Of course, herbal tea is my specialty,” she even handed him his cup. What was going on? Was it just that she was feeling bad for him?

Despite being suspicious, Yves took a cautionary sip. He couldn’t help the surprised, delighted sound he made when the flavour burst across his tongue. It was sweet, with just the right undercurrent of citrus, the two complimenting each other well. The soft floral scent tickled his nose when he lifted the cup to his mouth.

“Chamomile and lemon,” Aurelia informed, the picture of perfect poise as she drank her own tea. “Useful for when you’re trying to get a good night’s rest.” So it was pity. It was the same when she’d manipulated the court into being more accepting of Yves in spite of his half-Obsidian bloodline. He should probably be more upset than he was, shouldn’t he? But he was mentally drained and physically exhausted, and it was so much easier to drink this delicious tea.

“I’d tell you the recipe, but I’m afraid it’s a trade secret,” Aurelia said with a somewhat conspiratorial air, “Though I may be convinced to make a trade. Say, one recipe for another? Of course, I don’t mind if you want to visit me whenever you want a cup. I heard it’s good for your health if you see a pretty face every day.” She winked and Yves sputtered, miraculously not making a mess.

Aurelia didn’t bat an eye and began chatting about inconsequential things, carrying on a largely one-sided conversation that Yves could freely listen to as he slowly came back to himself. It took him longer than he wanted to admit to notice that Aurelia wasn’t mentioning his breakdown from earlier at all. This was, in fact, the most normal discussion Aurelia had with him since they’d met. So of course Yves had to ruin it by blurting out, “Aren’t you going to talk about it?”

Ugh, why did he always put his foot in his mouth? Today was such a disaster, and he was the one who kept making it worse. He fidgeted under her cool gaze, Aurelia seemingly unfazed by the disaster in front of her. “What should I say?” she asked, voice gentler than the words themselves suggested, “Should I pretend I don’t know what caused you to be upset and ask about it? Offer you platitudes like ‘you shouldn’t hate yourself because you’re a good person’ and ‘one day you’ll feel better’?” She tilted her head, her smile knowing but not unkind. “Does any of that ever help?”

Well . . . no, no, not really. If Yves is being honest, while he appreciated the sentiment (and the people who tried to cheer him up), those words had always rang . . . hollow. It was easy to say he should like himself or that things will get better, but Yves had been trying to do that his whole life and hasn’t gotten very far. How much harder does he have to work at it? When did things get better?

Aurelia was watching him like she could read his mind. “I don’t like wasting my breath on pointless words,” she refilled her cup, “Well-meaning words that sound nice but have nothing to back them up are incapable of bringing about change. You can;t like yourself when someone tells you you’re good if you don’t think you’re good enough. People rarely hate themselves because it makes sense to do so.”

There was something there in what Aurelia was saying that Yves almost couldn’t believe, a self-assurance that he would only expect from people in the same situation as him. It was hard to put his finger on it, because Aurelia usually sounded self-assured, but it was different. Just ten minutes ago, Yves would have said that was impossible. But here she was, sitting next to him in regular pajamas, sharing tea she had made herself, and Yves wouldn’t have predicted that either. Maybe this was just him embarrassing himself again, but he felt a little confident in asking, “Do you hate yourself too?”

He worried he got it totally wrong in the few moments of silence before Aurelia confirmed, slow and thoughtful, “That used to be the case, yes. There was a long time where I hated-everything, really. Myself, other people, the world at large. Sometimes I didn’t know who I hated the most.” Yves stared gobsmacked at her confession. Sure, he thought that might be the case, but to hear the truth from her own mouth was unexpected. Aurelia laughed at his expression. “Why ask if you’re going to be so surprised? Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yes,” Yves admitted honestly. He was rewarded with the rare sight of Aurelia’s surprise, there for a second and then gone once she caught it. “You’re so good at standing up for yourself,” he continued, “and you're so . . . mature when you do it. You know exactly what to say to make people do what you want. And you don’t care what they say about you. You would never cry on the kitchen floor because someone was mean to you.” Yves hung his head in shame. So Aurelia used to struggle with hating herself too, but she already learned to overcome it while he was still at the starting line.

“Why do you think what I’m doing is any different from what you’re doing? I just have an unfair advantage,” Aurelia tipped his chin up with her knuckle, “Maybe I’m not the type of person who cries in secret, but do you think I’m completely unfeeling? My emotions happen to run counter to yours, that’s all.”

Yves swallowed, suddenly nervous at their proximity. Aurelia would usually be taking this opportunity to flirt with him, but she was being completely serious, and that was a dynamic Yves didn’t have a defense against. And up close like this, it was hard for Yves to ignore how beautiful Aurelia was, especially with her tan skin lit up by the moon, silver eyes shining like they belonged in the night sky. Someone had to say something before this moment stretched on too long and Yves started to think things he shouldn’t.

“How,” mouth dry, he licked his lips, faltering when Aurelia’s gaze darted to his mouth, “h-how did you start liking yourself?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. I merely became ambivalent,” Aurelia grinned her same enigmatic grin she usually had, but if Yves squinted, he thought there might be something sad in it, “And I wouldn’t recommend following my example. Not caring may work for me, but it’s not meant for someone like you.”

Yves reflexively opened his mouth to reassure her, but he remembered their earlier discussion. Pretty words with empty meanings; why was it so easy to spout them at someone when they were feeling bad? What were the right words? Yves feared there weren’t any.

Aurelia giggled, amused instead of offended at Yves’ lack of eloquence. “See? Look at you, caring,” she cupped his jaw in her hand, thumb stroking his cheek. “Do you know what I would do in your place? I would get back at them. It wouldn’t be pretty, it wouldn’t be generous, and it wouldn’t be kind. But you? You’ll put your energy into making sure the people of your territory are happy and thriving. You’ll push forward policies that benefit the kingdom. The way you take revenge is by making sure the people who hate you have nothing to hate about Rhodolite. You’re pretty, and you’re generous, and you’re kind, despite everything that’s been thrown at you. What a marvel you are.”

This was bad. Aurelia should sound sarcastic like she usually did, not sincere. Yves didn’t know how to handle this new Aurelia, who was being more honest than she’d ever been with him. It made him want to say honest things back, like how she was all those things too. Something flashed in Aurelia’s eyes, her thumb stilling at the corner of his mouth. Oh no, he said that out loud, didn’t he?

“You’re incredibly tempting, do you know that?” Aurelia ran her thumb along his bottom lip. Something about her tone made it sound different from how she would normally mean it. Or maybe now that he knew she liked him for more than he thought she did, he could hear it better. Overwhelmed, Yves’ breath gusted out of him in a shaky exhale, and he could feel himself lean forward the tiniest bit. Aurelia’s grip tightened for a fraction of a second before she let go, heated expression clouding over to her normal one, a pointedly casual smile plastered on her face. “Be careful not to spill your tea,” she said, all traces of the mood from earlier gone.

The sudden distance left Yves feeling adrift. He panicked slightly when he noticed that his cup was completely tipped over, but luckily-for once-it was already empty. He wasn’t sure if Aurelia meant to be as revealing as she was, but he knew he wanted it back. “Thank you. For the tea and the-the talk,” he cast around for something to say, but he had a feeling Aurelia wouldn’t be vulnerable twice in one day.

As always, Aurelia clued in to what he really meant. “Well, it is the witching hour,” she glanced up at the bright, lonely moon, “Perhaps I was trying to cast a spell on you.”

“If you want that to work, you’re going to have to put more than one spell on me,” the words left Yves before he could think about them. He flushed bright red at how flirty that sounded.

“Will I?” Aurelia murmured, studying him closely, something considering in her gaze before she smirked, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And despite the way they dissolved into their normal bickering after that, Yves found himself enjoying his time with Aurelia so much that he forgot about getting to bed and taking care of the puffiness around his eyes. In fact, he was looking forward to more moments where Aurelia let her guard down, even if she was more mercurial than the phases of the moon.

[wistfulwanderingone]

"Meeting in the Moonlight" (Clavis' POV)

- Clavis Lelouch & Cassandra Bellerose (Ikemen Prince) ✨ Standalone Fic ✨

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Characters: Clavis Lelouch & Cassandra Bellerose (OC)

Pairing: Clavis Lelouch x Cassandra OC

Genre: (tiny, tiny bit of angst), Mostly Romantic Fluff

Word Count: ~3700

Summary:

A hidden balcony. A mysterious woman. A moment that stirs something he’s tried to bury.

For Clavis Lelouch, every encounter is a game—but this one feels dangerously different.

Clavis leaned against the balcony's stone railing, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he surveyed the quiet garden below. The palace—his playground—was a stage where he played the role of the troublesome prince with a devil-may-care smile. But tonight, even the familiar thrill of mischief couldn’t dull the sharp edges of pain he carried beneath his charm.

The surroundings, once alive with his antics, felt distant and cold, as if the very stones mirrored the emptiness he kept buried beneath his smirk. His jaw tightened as unwelcome memories pressed in, their weight leaving his breaths shallow and uneven. When nights like this came, when shadows crept too close, his carefully constructed mask faltered, and he felt the cracks threatening to widen.

He pushed away from the railing, forcing a smirk onto his lips. It was brittle—an illusion as fragile as glass—but it was all he had. Vulnerability was a feeling he despised. It only served as a reminder that beneath his charm and wit he was just a waste of space haunted by the ghosts of his past, a mediocre fool who couldn’t entirely escape the shadow of the monster he was destined to serve for life, or the memory of his mother’s tragic end.

The creak of a door broke through his reverie, drawing his attention to the faint rustle of movement behind him. He slipped into the shadows, his instincts taking over as he waited, composing himself before anyone could glimpse the cracks in his facade.

She entered quietly—a young woman he’d seen a few times with Yves and Licht. Though striking, she wasn’t like the other courtiers, who flaunted their beauty with calculated precision. There was a quiet restraint to her, a grace that hinted at something deeper beneath the surface.

Tonight, she moved with purpose, her eyes darting back toward the door as she stepped onto the balcony. She closed the curtains behind her, as if sealing herself off from the world beyond. That alone piqued Clavis’s interest. Who was she hiding from? A faint spark of curiosity ignited—a welcome distraction. For a moment, he allowed himself to focus on her, to let intrigue replace the weight in his chest.

She wasn’t smiling, but there was a hint of it in the soft curve of her peony-pink lips. A single flower tucked into her brown hair added a touch of whimsy to her otherwise composed appearance. Her green eyes, luminous in the moonlight, caught his attention most of all. They held a spark—a fire that wasn’t quite extinguished, even in her apparent discomfort.

He watched as she pressed herself against the wall, her eyes closing as she exhaled a long, steadying breath. For a moment, she seemed almost at peace. But Clavis couldn’t resist the urge to stir the waters. He crept up behind her, his steps silent, until he was close enough to see the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

Leaning in, he let his voice drop to a husky whisper. "Are we playing hide-and-seek?”  he murmured against her ear, “or are you here for a more intimate rendezvous?"

The effect was immediate. She gasped, spinning to face him with wide, startled eyes. She stumbled backward, nearly losing her balance before catching herself against the railing. Clavis couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. Her flustered reaction was exactly the kind of entertainment he’d been craving. "I apologize for startling you,” he said, keeping his tone light, the very picture of disarming politeness. “I was only teasing. Are you alright, young lady?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she replied, smoothing the silky pink fabric of her skirt as though it could restore composure. There was a musical lilt to her voice, sweet and entirely feminine. “I was just hiding from…” She trailed off, her gaze squinting into the darkness, the dim light playing in his favor. “What I mean is I didn’t want someone to see me.” Her voice carried an edge of distrust. And how could he blame her? Trusting him would be a mistake.

He raised an eyebrow she couldn’t see. "May I ask who? I'll need a name if I’m to be a gentleman and defend your honor.”

Her lips parted, but she hesitated, pressing them together again. Unlike most nobles, who would have offered up a quick excuse or a polite lie, she seemed different—more honest or perhaps just more flustered.

She turned slightly, glancing toward the curtains, as if ensuring their privacy. “I’m hiding from that big creep, Jin.” 

A low chuckle escaped Clavis's lips before he could stop himself. Her straightforwardness was refreshing. "You know he's a prince, right?" he teased, unable to resist.

"Just because he's a prince doesn't mean he isn't a huge creep!" she retorted, her defiance sparking in a way that caught him off guard.

As Clavis moved closer, he noticed the way her posture stiffened, tension visible in her shoulders. But she didn’t move away. Something about her boldness—her refusal to retreat—stirred his interest. Even the way her fingers trembled slightly as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear hinted at someone caught between fear and resolve.

"Be that as it may, he's still a prince." Clavis found himself stepping nearer without entirely understanding why.  Perhaps it was her candor, her willingness to dismiss decorum and call things as she saw them. Whatever it was, it held him there.

Her expression softened as a smile curved her lips, brushing away the tension that had clung to her features. It was small but genuine, surprising in its ease. “Well, if the crown's crooked, I'll call it like I see it,” she said, her smile widening as she delivered the bold, humorous statement.

Another laugh escaped him, this one deeper, warmer. Her candidness was both unexpected and captivating. Most people at the palace were so consumed with appearances they measured their words carefully, terrified of who might overhear. But here she was, speaking about a prince with a daring edge, completely unaware of the risk—or the identity of the man she addressed. 

"Unfortunately, there are laws against speaking about princes with that kind of language," he teased, his tone playful. His curiosity was piqued. What kind of reaction would this intriguing woman reveal next?

"I'm pretty sure 'creep' isn't on that list," she countered, eyebrows lifting in a challenge that dared him to argue.

"But...are you certain?" Clavis asked, his voice dipping into mock seriousness. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face, her confidence wavering.

Their eyes met, his gaze sharp and searching. Her green eyes, faintly glowing in the half-light, were wide and expressive and seemed to reflect more than uncertainty—they held depth, a quiet intensity that drew him in. For a moment, he lingered, caught off guard by the faint spark of connection that passed between them, fleeting but undeniable. It left him with a feeling in his chest—a mix of trepidation and excitement.

"Well, no, but..." Her voice faltered as she peered into the shadows. Her smile was replaced by a look of wary apprehension. "Are you a guard? Are you going to report me? Or...hand me over to Prince Jin?"

“Now, that would be amusing," he replied with a low chuckle, its smooth tone rippling through the quiet night. "And if there's one thing I'm all about, it's finding every bit of amusement life has to offer."

Her posture shifted, tension radiating through her frame as she instinctively stepped back. The move was subtle, but he recognized it for what it was: preparation to flee. Acting on impulse, Clavis reached out, his fingers closing gently around her arm. His hold was firm yet unthreatening, enough to stop her without startling her further. Even through his gloves, he felt the warmth of her skin, and how she froze at his touch, her breath catching. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t ready for her to leave yet. He wanted to continue their little game just for a few more moments. 

As he stepped into the faint light of the moon, he watched her reaction closely. Her free hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening as the moonlight illuminated the royal crest on his uniform—a subtle yet unmistakable symbol of his status. Clavis had seen this moment play out countless times before, yet there was something particularly satisfying about the way her expression shifted. Shock, recognition, and something else—something closer to awe—flashed across her features.

But it wasn’t just her reaction that caught his attention. A barely perceptible shiver ran through her, and the way she stared up at him, caught between fascination and disbelief, only deepened his curiosity.

With a smirk, Clavis released her arm. "Third Prince, Clavis Lelouch, at your service. The most charming of all the princes," he announced with a dramatic bow, his voice dripping with waggish arrogance. 

Her response was exactly what he’d expected—and yet somehow more. "You're...a prince?" she stammered, the flush in her cheeks deepening as she struggled to steady herself under his gaze. It was almost endearing, watching her attempt to recover her composure even as she unraveled in his presence.

"I...I didn't mean to offend...I mean, I didn't know..." she continued, her words tumbling out faster, her wide eyes betraying her vulnerability. Despite her obvious discomfort, she didn’t retreat. Something seemed to hold her there.

Clavis waved off her concerns with an impish grin. "Oh, don't fret, dearie," he said lightly. "You've added quite a delightful twist to my evening. It's not every day one encounters such refreshingly candid commentary on royalty."

She blinked, her expression wavering between confusion and relief. "You mean...you're not going to report me or hand me over to Prince Jin?" she asked hesitantly.

Clavis chuckled. "Report you? Hand you over to Jin? What would be the fun of that?" He stepped closer, his grin growing as her uncertainty deepened. "No, I'd much prefer to keep this enchanting encounter our little secret." He placed a gloved finger seductively over his lips. “Wouldn’t you?”

Her eyes flicked briefly to his lips, the subtle shift betraying her thoughts. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks as she bit her lower lip, a failed attempt to mask her reaction. Watching her wrestle with her emotions was its own quiet thrill—the hesitant glances, the nervous fidgeting of her fingers, and the slight tremor in her voice. She was inexperienced in this kind of game, and that made it all the more entertaining.

He leaned casually against the railing, signaling her to relax with an air of confidence he knew was hard to resist. Tilting his head slightly, he asked, "So, tell me, what exactly did Jin do to earn the title of 'creep' from you?"

He saw her hesitate, the sudden self-consciousness in her gaze as she looked toward the garden below. The moonlight caught the soft lines of her profile, highlighting her internal struggle as she collected herself. “He’s just…he makes me feel uncomfortable. I try to avoid him whenever I can," she admitted, her voice soft, almost as if confiding in the night itself.

"I see." Clavis’ expression shifted, his teasing tone replaced with a hint of thoughtfulness. “And it would appear you have a talent for discovering intriguing hiding spots. Perhaps you might consider inviting me to join your little escapade next time." His words came with a flirtatious lilt, his gaze intent as he reached out, curling his fingers gently around hers.

As he drew her closer, the warmth of her hand in his own surprised him, as did the tension in her body. Her breath hitched, her proximity filling the air between them with a delicate, intoxicating sweetness. A faint scent of summer peaches entwined with the elegance of magnolias and a whisper of white tea—a fragrance that suited her perfectly. He pushed the thought aside, his focus returning to the flicker of emotion in her eyes. 

Her hand was small and delicate, yet there was a quiet strength in the way she held onto him, as if anchoring herself. Her pulse quickened beneath his touch, and her breath became uneven. In her eyes, he caught a flicker of tension—or perhaps something deeper—though it eluded him. He didn’t need to guess at her thoughts to recognize temptation battling with reason. He had seen it countless times before.

"I...I don't think that's a good idea," she stammered, her cheeks flushing with a fiery blush.

Clavis smirked, unable to suppress his amusement. She was right, of course. Proprietary dictated it. But propriety had never interested him. There was something about her—a refreshing departure from the typical noblewomen at court—that stirred his curiosity. It made him eager to test boundaries, to see just how far she would let him go before retreating.

He raised an eyebrow, savoring her flustered state. "Oh? And why not?" he pressed, his tone teasing, but laced with enough allure to keep her on edge. 

"Because...because you're a prince, and I'm just...me," she replied, her voice wavering as she grasped for an explanation. 

Despite himself, his smile softened. For a fleeting moment, he felt the urge to reassure her. "Titles are just fancy hats, 'Just-Me,'” he quipped, his tone light but underscored with sincerity. “It's the head and heart beneath that count.”

Cassandra’s lips curved into a smile, tickled by his silly words—a smile that lit up her face in a way that caught him off guard. There was something almost enchanting in her response, a warmth that felt rare in his world of false faces and veiled intentions and irritated brothers and court ministers. It stirred something unfamiliar in him, a faint fleeting sense of ease.

"Thank you, Prince Clavis," she said softly, her bright green eyes glowing as they met his. Her voice held a dreamy quality, as if she were reluctant to break the spell. "I should probably go now."

"As you wish." Clavis straightened. "But before you depart, it seems you neglected to give me your name."

He noticed the blush returning to her cheeks, a telltale sign of her flustered state. He found it endearing—rarely did anyone seem so unguarded around him.

"Cassandra Bellerose,” she answered, her voice soft, her words carrying a gentle, melodic rhythm.

Clavis’s smile deepened as he repeated her name, tasting its elegance. “Ah, Shining Beautiful Rose. How befitting.” His words, polished and smooth, carried the princely charm he wielded with ease. He lowered his gaze to their joined hands, pressing a deliberate, lingering kiss there—long enough to send a shiver down her spine.

As he raised his eyes, he held her gaze, deliberate in his intensity. The subtle shift in her expression—the way her composure wavered—only encourages him to let the moment stretch, savoring the quiet thrill of her reaction. It was a game, after all, one he always played to win. 

She curtsied gracefully, her movements almost dreamlike, her lingering blush revealing the effect of their exchange. When he released her hand, a faint tingle remained in his fingers, unsettling him more than he cared to admit.

Still, his smile stayed firmly in place. “Until we meet again, Lady Cassandra, and we most assuredly shall,” he murmured, his voice low, as if sharing a secret meant only for her.

Clavis stepped back, pulling the curtains aside, his eyes never leaving her as she slipped through the doorway. The soft whisper of silk brushed against him as she moved, but what lingered longer was her scent—a blend of sweetness and florals—that teased his senses before fading.

As the sound of her footsteps receded into the distance, Clavis lingered on the balcony, the cool night air brushing against his skin. Cassandra remained in his thoughts. She was different, her reactions unlike those he usually elicited. Her vulnerability felt raw, genuine—unfiltered by the polished pretense of nobles. There was an innocence to her, but beneath it, something simmered—a mystery that he found both irresistible and dangerous to unravel.

Yet, even as these thoughts crossed his mind, a familiar resolve tightened in his chest. Intrigue was a double-edged sword, a weapon that cut too deeply if handled carelessly. Clavis knew this better than most. People always crumbled when subjected to his tests—designed to expose the flaws they hid, the selfishness they denied, and, most importantly, the truth that their affection for him was never real.

It was a game he had mastered, one in which he always emerged unscathed—if not entirely untouched. And despite the part of him that dared to hope, he knew better than to indulge in foolishness. Experience had taught him not to indulge in such delusions, not to let his heart get ensnared in emotions that only ever led to disappointment.

No matter how captivating or genuine this Cassandra Bellarose seemed tonight, she would fail. They always did. And when that moment came, he would walk away, as he always had, with nothing more than a faint regret and the satisfaction of knowing he had proven his beliefs correct and protected himself from the pain of attachment.

Tag List:

@ithseem @chirp-a-chirp @aquagirl1978 @queengiuliettafirstlady @nyxthepixystick

@ikeprinces-stuff @kaizoku-musume @candiedcoffeedrops @missaengg @ike-garden2024

@writingwhimsey @reborn-elven-spirit @elixirofubik

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[abyssmalice]

REMEMBER TO REPOST & NOT REBLOG. FEEL FREE TO ADD TO THE LIST

bold the aesthetic for your muse italicize what can be taken 2 ways

the softest palms that never want to touch you until after a bottle of wine. /  “ just braid your hair if you won’t brush it, at least, you useless girl. ”  / pulling on your skirt with one hand as you shuffle away.  /  “ you’ll get it done before the day is up. ”  / guilt that isn’t yours to have.  /  it’s a crooked game, but it’s the only one in town.  / chains.  /  “ how could you do this to me? ”  /  the sharp sting of guilt.  /  you feel something even though you’re paid to do the opposite.  / the family you never had.  /  falling backwards through time. /  quicksand. /  drowning, but you don’t save yourself.  /

“ you’re getting better. ”  / “ they smile like a snake. ”  /  you’re the stars and the sky.  /  there’s a part of you that couldn’t stay away even if you were forced to. / they are your wings, there’s no doubt there.  /  “ let’s take off somewhere. let’s fly. ”  /  you edge a bit too close to the sun.  /  another ghost to take your place after every stumble.  /  deep roots in the ground slashed open in the sun. /  rock candy melting in water. /  waves rise and leave the foam behind. /  the precipice you call home has a tip you’ll reach eventually.  / happiness is the best front a man can take. /  

“ i’ve never seen someone as beautiful as you before. ” /  you disagree; they’re more beautiful. / discomfort at the tiniest of touches. / the sky opens up when you see them. /  rain comes down.  / poppy fields.  /  your sanity hanging by a thread.  / “ oh god, what have you done? ”  / roommates weren’t supposed to be the smartest ones of all. / they’ve got a devil on their shoulder and an angel in their mind. / you try to help, but it only got worse. /  now they’re dead, it’s all your fault.  /  adam & eve in the garden.  / a temptress in crisp button-downs.  /  “ fuck, you’ve gone off the deep end, haven’t you? ”  /  

they lie so perfectly you almost forget yourself. /  the spark that lit the kindling on your funeral pyre.  /  sugar and spice and a taste for the dark side.  /  yves saint laurent black opium on your pillow, a scented cloud drifting behind you like a cape.  /  crisp green apples piled up on the table. /  your shoes are sharp, but your wit is even sharper.  /  what a pretty one, they say.  /  you laugh without humour.  /  a soft, hollow spot sits in your chest. / there’s a place you’ll never leave no matter who tries to stop you. /  the seat of power fits like a glove. /  heavy is the head that wears the crown.  /  you share a space, but not a mind. /  they think you are weak; you are, maybe.  /  “ what are you going to do with all of these pills? ” /  an empty bird’s nest. /  broken pencil tips. / there’s an empty paper in front of you that you’ll never fill.  /  

“ we want you to succeed. i hope you can grasp that .”  / “ they weren’t there when it happened. ”  / corruption.  /  there’s a red string tying you together.  /  the scent of whiskey on the horizon. /  “ you’re the best friend i’ve ever had. ”  / pink tipped fingers lock in secrecy. / 99 red balloons drifting through a hazy sky. /  you try to lift your head up, but it’s so much effort. / always walking on sunshine.  /  there’s a million reasons to come down from the clouds, but you can’t be bothered.  / loon is the word of the day.  /  hair twisted up with glitter butterfly clips like a haphazard mobile. /  you drift, but you know where you’re going. /  

no one has any dirt on you because you’re infinitely spotless.  / the empty side of your bed they crawled into when they were nine.  / court hearings. /  “ i miss you. ”  /  siblings are a funny thing. / they point out every family-shaped hole in every picture on the mantelpiece.  /  ivy infiltrating an empty, corroded church.  /  proud marble busts faceless & crumbling: a proud mirror to your waning sanity. /  you will do anything to keep them. tear apart the world, mass murder: all that matters is that you’re together.

[animehusbandharem]

I’m curious of other’s opinions on this: out of all the suitors, who is the most believable and least believable for “Belle” to actually fall in love with? Basically, how realistic would it actually be for her to fall in love with one of them?

I based my rankings based off a mix of Belle’s personality and the actual story and how it plays out - i tried to be as least biased as i possibly could lol

My ranking would be:

1. Leon: i picked Leon as most believable because of how quickly she warmed up to him and how compatible their communication styles are. They’re honestly almost too perfect that it makes me wanna gag (sorry Leon lovers lol)

2. Keith: He comes in 2nd similarly to Leon, the nice Keith and Belle get along so well and it seems like she has a soft spot for him from the get-go. It’s believable to me also because of how his story was written and i could definitely see MC ending up with him.

3. Rio: The boy next door has to be believable. Poor Rio lol. I put him 3rd because she has to get past seeing him as a friend which is a small obstacle, but it is totally believable because theyre already super close and it would make sense.

4. Chevalier: the “true” route. I love their story, and given their personalities, i think it was very well written for both of them to compliment each other. They have just enough in common to keep the stability, but also love languages to help learned and keep the spark alive.

5. Gilbert: the “bad boy”. He is believable to me because the slow progression makes sense, and you can see how both of them compliment each other and pique their interest of the other as well. It seems like a natural progression, and it’s one that we can see coming.

6. Clavis: the class clown. One of my favorite routes 🥰. I think the dynamic between Belle and Clavis are so quirky, that it works. It makes sense once she learns more about Clavis that she would fall for him.

7. Licht: Sweet emo baby. My first love. I put him lower on the list because he’s harder to actually get to know, so the likelihood of her truly being interested in him at first is likely low, but once she finds out he’s a sweet baby - she will be smitten and will fall.

8. Sariel: Daddy issues. I actually really like his route and i genuinely believe this could happen, the only reason hes lower on the list is because i think it would be less likely that Belle would sacrifice her “professionalism” but i do still think it’s a believable story!

9. Silvio: Loveable asshole. Okay, listen - i’m sorry Silvio stans… i ranked Silvio lower because it would take a lot longer for her to warm up to him… especially the way he talks to her - and quite frankly, with all the other options around, why would she fall for him when theres so many other princes?? BUT… i do think his route is very believable for what it is and i did enjoy it personally

10. Nokto: emo playboy. Let’s be real, she would be so turned off by his bullshit, i find it hard to believe she would even think twice about wanting to get to know him. When she does, i don’t think she would want to be more than friends.

11. Luke: Baby bear. I cant picture them together because of how young he seems honestly 😣

12. Jin: Titty idiot. His route felt so wrong and weird to me… it felt forced and awkward. This just doesn’t feel like a good match and it doesn’t seem like a natural progression to me. He doesn’t have much of a personality, and they both just don’t seem to fit

13. Yves: Baby girl. I cant take him seriously as a lover when even the game suggested that Belle questioned he may be queer. (Nothing wrong with this at all, just doesnt fit the narrative they are selling). I LOVE YVES and everyone needs one in their life, but he’s not believable as a lover… and we all know why 🙃

[akuheito]

REMEMBER TO REPOST & NOT REBLOG. FEEL FREE TO ADD TO THE LIST

bold the aesthetic for your muse italicize what can be taken 2 ways.

the softest palms that never want to touch you until after a bottle of wine. /  “ just braid your hair if you won’t brush it, at least, you useless girl. ”  / pulling on your skirt with one hand as you shuffle away.  /  “ you’ll get it done before the day is up. ”  / guilt that isn’t yours to have.  /  it’s a crooked game, but it’s the only one in town.  / chains.  /  “ how could you do this to me? ”  /  the sharp sting of guilt.  /  you feel something even though you’re paid to do the opposite.  / the family you never had.  /  falling backwards through time. /  quicksand. /  drowning, but you don’t save yourself.  / “ you’re getting better. ”  / “ they smile like a snake. ”  /  you’re the stars and the sky.  /  there’s a part of you that couldn’t stay away even if you were forced to. / they are your wings, there’s no doubt there.  /  “ let’s take off somewhere. let’s fly. ”  /  you edge a bit too close to the sun.  /  another ghost to take your place after every stumble.  /  deep roots in the ground slashed open in the sun. /  rock candy melting in water. /  waves rise and leave the foam behind. /  the precipice you call home has a tip you’ll reach eventually.  / happiness is the best front a man can take. /  “ i’ve never seen someone as beautiful as you before. ” /  you disagree; they’re more beautiful. / discomfort at the tiniest of touches. / the sky opens up when you see them. /  rain comes down.  / poppy fields.  /  your sanity hanging by a thread.  / “ oh god, what have you done? ”  / roommates weren’t supposed to be the smartest ones of all. / they’ve got a devil on their shoulder and an angel in their mind. / you try to help, but it only got worse. /  now they’re dead, it’s all your fault.  /  adam & eve in the garden.  / a temptress in crisp button-downs.  /  “ fuck, you’ve gone off the deep end, haven’t you? ”  /  they lie so perfectly you almost forget yourself. /  the spark that lit the kindling on your funeral pyre.  /  sugar and spice and a taste for the dark side.  /  yves saint laurent black opium on your pillow, a scented cloud drifting behind you like a cape.  /  crisp green apples piled up on the table. /  your shoes are sharp, but your wit is even sharper.  /  what a pretty one, they say.  /  you laugh without humour.  /  a soft, hollow spot sits in your chest. / there’s a place you’ll never leave no matter who tries to stop you. /  the seat of power fits like a glove. /  heavy is the head that wears the crown.  /  you share a space, but not a mind. /  they think you are weak; you are, maybe.  /  “ what are you going to do with all of these pills? ” /  an empty bird’s nest. /  broken pencil tips. / there’s an empty paper in front of you that you’ll never fill.  /  “ we want you to succeed. i hope you can grasp that .”  / “ they weren’t there when it happened. ”  / corruption.  /  there’s a red string tying you together.  /  the scent of whiskey on the horizon. /  “ you’re the best friend i’ve ever had. ”  / pink tipped fingers lock in secrecy. / 99 red balloons drifting through a hazy sky. /  you try to lift your head up, but it’s so much effort. / always walking on sunshine.  /  there’s a million reasons to come down from the clouds, but you can’t be bothered.  / loon is the word of the day.  /  hair twisted up with glitter butterfly clips like a haphazard mobile. /  you drift, but you know where you’re going. /  no one has any dirt on you because you’re infinitely spotless.  / the empty side of your bed they crawled into when they were nine.  / court hearings. /  “ i miss you. ”  /  siblings are a funny thing. / they point out every family-shaped hole in every picture on the mantelpiece.  /  ivy infiltrating an empty, corroded church.  /  proud marble busts faceless & crumbling: a proud mirror to your waning sanity. /  you will do anything to keep them. tear apart the world, mass murder: all that matters is that you’re together.