#and who doesn't want their men covered in glitter tbh

[pirateboy]

Lava cus you are too obsessed with British men covered in glitter

HELP. but yeah. yeah that's fair

[void-botanist]

@kahvilahuhut I can't give you a ten hour speech about Hoven but here's a close second, a play by play of this bingo.

Daddy issues: Hoven was raised by two dads, Gert & Dari, who are married to each other. In a nutshell, Dari is the nice dad, the one you actually enjoy having around to supervise you and your friends, and Gert is the one with Expectations and Ability To Lecture You. Also, unfortunately for Hoven, Gert is his biological dad, which makes his opinion feel like it has that much more weight. Tbh Hoven's arc in Syndy & Hoven is rooted in his daddy issues, which include: everything feeling insurmountable, the intense pressure to just do it already, shame about his relationship with Julian, shame about his inability to keep a handle on a grandiose train wreck of an android, and uh actually speaking to his father.

Incoherent sobbing: I feel sad for him but honestly he does most of the incoherent sobbing he is having a Bad Time okay

Just like me fr: this wasn't intentional (can you believe Hoven used to be a random librarian side character with a caffeine addiction?) but for the majority of my life I had Hoven's flavor of anxiety all the time, especially re: parent issues. So I feel extra soft about him because dude. that sucks

ANGST: he thinks he is a failure and SYNDY KEEPS BEING MEAN TO HIM. And his dad wants to talk to him??? And he's in a relationship but not because Julian doesn't do long distance??? And also his friend died and he's ignoring how that's sad actually??? yeah angst

Let them be happy: he tries so hard and feels so bad I just want him to give himself a break yknow.

I want to cradle them gently: same as above. Just stop thinking about your dad's opinion and go cry about something intentionally instead of only doing it when you can't take it anymore okay

GO TO FUCKING THERAPY: idk maybe he does this after traveling the world but. He kinda thinks he is just permanently Like This (and it would in fact be fine if he was, he just hasn't seriously considered that he might be jumping the gun on that one) and like what is therapy going to do, tell him he's anxious because his dad was a little mean? He already knows that?? And going to therapy in the first place is scary??? But he at least needs SOMEONE to talk to about it instead of just bottling it up.

Puts them in a snow globe: "aggressive snowglobe shake" describes the average level of conflict in my WIPs but especially Syndy & Hoven. It's just one damn thing after another. It's really not unlike repeatedly getting your face smashed against the inside of a glass sphere while the fake snow taunts you with its effortless charm and covers your futile efforts in a blanket of glitter.

LEAVE. THEM. ALONE!!!: I'm looking at YOU Syndy we all know that you are beautiful, immortal, and correct about everything but have you also considered that Hoven has feelings and you have been gleefully stomping on them this whole time. But I will also @ Gert for being a lackluster dad, Dez for being unreasonably suspicious of Hoven, and also Gweltsen tbh for kind of just dumping all of their after-death needs onto him. Hoven is fragile and you ARE NOT HELPING.

Mommy issues: Hoven has barely seen or spoken to his mom since he was a baby. That's it, that's the whole issue. He feels like he should try to connect with her but as usual is low-key terrified about how that might go. (This is a completely normal thing in his country btw, like obviously he was gonna go home to the men's town with his dads.)

Ten hour speech:

Despite being an extremely sad and repressed doormat of a person, he manages to not actually be pathetic. He's doing his best, 25/8

He does get the opportunity to snipe back at Syndy lol but also even when she's being awful and he's trying to shrug it off so she'll stick around, he still won't let her say shit about Sal or Ozen or Julian. Can't defend himself (obviously he sucks lol) but all of his people are great so shut up Syndy

Could probably write an entire book about the years he spent living with Sal & Ozen & Ozen's fishtank

I did not realize that Hoven sounds like the Spanish word joven (young) until much later even though I'm pretty sure I was already learning Spanish when I named him

I went an entire post without mentioning the one thing he loves most in the entire world: tea. Literally is drinking a cup of tea in like 70% of his appearances in TFA. Tea has never done him wrong

He writes letters by hand? To Julian? Like a good old-fashioned lover boy?

He's so capable and he won't give himself credit for any of it HOW DARE HE

Of the handful of contenders I would have for men who are "little freaks who have suffered more than jesus" he is one. I don't think he wins but did I mention he's doing his best 26/9

Unhinged Blorbingo

when you do a bingo and wonder if actually you are too Normal about your blorbos

Thank you @outpost51 for the tag! I tried a few characters to see if I could find a funny one but Hoven is kinda the obvious choice:

("do you want to hear a ten hour speech" is a free space you can't convince me otherwise)

I'll pass the tag on to @sarahlizziewrites, @kahvilahuhut, and @writinglittlebeasts plus anyone who wants to join in.

Blank below the cut.

[violettduchess]

Hello hello, new to this Ikemen world. I hope u are having a good day!

Can I ask headcanons of Chevalier Michel when the Belle is a very kind woman ( just like Emma ) but she is also very cultured and good at arguments. Having a passion for law, realistic books, the philosophy of nihilism, real cases of crimes and legal failures. ALSO INTO HISTORY. She’s a very good debater, with very good morals that she protects very well through words. Her kind persona shall not give the impression that she’s vulnerable. Her arguments can destroy and she never backs down, even when she sees blood ( even if she’s scared, a lot of self-control ). A hopeless-romantic with high standards. And she is NOT AFRAID OF CHEVALIER. She is also loud about how she does not understand why people consider him so scary.

I just want his first impressions on her and how he started to fall in love.

Tbh even tho I love him, if I was in that route myself, I would have started some arguments with him… maybe this is a self-insert ( 😳😳 ) but I just want to see him shouted down in a debate/argument by Belle for once.

A/N: I am sorry this took so long, anon! I hope I was able to cover everything 💜

Chevalier x Reader

Word Count: 1453

Chevalier Michel Headcanon:

He is standing, arms crossed as his glacial gaze watches the soldiers training. The clang of metal rings through the air as swords cross, each soldier wanting to do their very best to impress the cold prince. Suddenly a loud cavalcade of metallic clanking disrupts practice. His head snaps towards the sound and he sees a young page scrambling to lift up the heavy wooden sword rack where the training swords are kept. Chevalier’s displeasure radiates off of him, cold waves of icy disapproval. The young boy’s shaking hands struggle to get the swords back in place until suddenly another set of hands is there. One rests reassuringly on his shoulder, the other lifts a fallen sword out of the scuffed grass. You speak calmly, soothingly as you kneel, helping gather up the rest of the swords. The young page shudders when he glances over his shoulder at Chevalier whose stare has never wavered. You rise slowly, back straight, head held high as you meet those impossibly blue eyes and do not look away, a defiant expression on your face. Your gazes lock like antlers and a thin sliver of surprise courses through him when you do not back down. He wins of course, but only because the young page is tugging your sleeve, nervously but gratefully thanking you for your help. You smile gently, nodding and then glance once more over your shoulder at the pale-haired prince, who has turned his attention back to the soldiers sparring. You do not see the way those eyes follow your retreating figure.

A round table discussion on what to do about a certain anti-monarchist group that has been dealing with Obsidian in secret, trading Rhodolite information for weapons. You are allowed to sit in on the meeting, listening as the princes debate various ways of dealing with the problem. Chevalier looks bored. When Leon turns heated golden eyes on him, asking his opinion, he responds by stating the only logical solution is to arrest and execute the lot of them. And then you hear your voice cut through the rumbling of the men with a simple “No, it’s not.” Again those eyes are on you, narrowing in a way that would stop the heart of most people. You are not most people. You go on to describe a similar situation that occurred within the Jade kingdom, several decades ago and how instead of slaying everyone, the ruler turned them, used them to spy on the enemy they had been conspiring with. He tries to find fault with the idea, counter points flashing through his mind like the lashes of a cat-o-nine tails but no matter how he tries, he doesn't see a disadvantage. The longer he is quiet, staring at you, the more the tension in the room grows. The other princes are still, no one daring to break the silence. Clavis’s eyes glitter like a magpie before a pile of jewels. When Chevalier rises and leaves without another word, you barely hear the murmurings of the other princes over the emphatic hammering of your heart.

He finds you later that evening in the library, reading by candlelight. He ignores you as he walks to the shelves, scanning the many leather-bound tomes for the one he wants. You lean back, one elbow on the back of your chair. “Looking for this?” He turns at the sound of your voice. “I doubt you would be reading ‘The History-” “of Mercantilism in the Benitoite Kingdom’?” You finish the book title for him. His jaw clenches, the only outward sign that you have surprised him. Yet again. You close the book, the heavy leather cover falling shut with a small thunk and slide it to the end of the table. “I found it informative, if a bit tedious. The author spends far too long explaining why the need to maintain a trade surplus is paramount to wealth building and could have focused more on the need for a strong military to ensure local markets and supply sources are protected.” You stand, gathering several other books in your arms. “But perhaps you’ll find it useful. One is never too old to learn. Good night, Prince Chevalier.” 

You are in the gardens, sitting on a stone bench, surrounded by a riot of beautiful red roses, their scent wrapped around you like a mantel of beauty. In your lap, a sketchbook where you are doing your best to capture them, pencil to soft paper. So engrossed are you in your art, you do not hear the rustling in the bushes. You do not notice the deafening silence. It happens in a flash, a blur of men emerging, dark shapes with swords drawn, coming towards you, and then the white storm of vengeance that rains down on them, thundering past you to meet them head on. Men’s groans rise from bodies that fall. The iron scent of blood mingles with the soft scent of the roses, a stomach-churning mixture. Chevalier’s sword drinks deeply, bloodthirsty and relentless until there are nothing but corpses littering the garden path like fallen petals. He turns to face you. His pristine white clothing is splattered red, matching the droplets that are strewn across your sketchbook, your gown, your bare skin. Inside you are trembling. Outside, you rise slowly, closing your sketchbook, pressing those drops of blood into the paper, painting your rose drawing red. “Thank you, Prince Chevalier, for my life.” 

He sits at his desk, quill in hand. But it is not moving. It has not even been dipped in ink. What had he expected? You to faint at the violence. You to weep at the blood. You to burst into tears. To scream. To tremble like the last brittle, brown leaf in winter’s wind. He did not expect you to calmly rise, thank him, and walk away from the carnage as easily as if you were leaving a tea party. The blank parchment in front of him mocks him and pressing his lips into a thin line, he wets the tip of the quill. He manages two words before he stops writing again. Your interjection at the previous day’s meeting, using the historical example in Jade to convince the other princes that allowing the anti-monarchists to live was a better choice, the gleam in your eye as you met his and refused to look away. The curve of your mouth when you effortlessly discussed that book. The gentleness of your hand as you laid it on the page’s shoulder. The shape of your body as you walked away. These are the things that are flipping through his mind, like the pages of a book fluttering in the wind. Angrily he turns his usually razor-sharp focus back to his parchment. His quill has dribbled ink all over it. If it was mocking him before, it is laughing at him now. He growls, the legs of his chair scraping against the wooden floor as he pushes himself away from his desk. This is unacceptable. He must find a way to stop it. Now.

He finds you in the main salon. The hour is late and you have fallen asleep, curled up on the red velvet loveseat, wrapped in your pale yellow dressing gown, your hair shining in the warm light of the fire. Several books lay strewn about the carpet. He recognizes them as art history books. He should just turn around and go, but his steps are taking him toward you, not away. He stops in front of the loveseat, staring down at you, at the way the soft, flickering light caresses your cheek, the exposed skin of your calf, the slope of your neck where your hair has fallen to the side. And then he notices the sketchbook, laying open next to your head. His own face stares back at him, captured in perfect detail. Except there is a softness to his features, something that could only be drawn by a hand that is creating something it cares about. Something that has meaning. Do you really see him this way? Capable of this….emotion? He turns back to you and his hand reaches down, awkwardly moving strands of hair away from your face. His fingers brush your cheek in the process, a light touch. You stir but do not wake, unaware of what you have just done, of the way you have now burned the memory of your softness into his skin, the way your spirit has been branded into his mind. The unshakeable Chevalier Michel jerks his hand away from you, the unfamiliar feeling of his heart beating so rapidly is unnerving. He leaves the salon hurriedly, the fingers that touched you curling into his palm. He had come looking for you to end something. And instead, something else, something new and disquieting, has been born.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing @scorchieart